Past and Present
by WishfulWriting
Summary: Prison Break with focus on Michael and Lincoln. Involving the present struggle in prison as well as flashbacks to life before prison and growing up. Mostly flashbacks. If you read, please review!
1. Chapter 1

**I haven't written any Prison Break stories yet, but being hooked on the show, and having it on haitus for now, I wanted to give it a whirl. This will focus on Lincoln and Michael, with current show and flashbacks. Flashbacks will be italicized.

* * *

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**Chapter 1**

The night before Michael finally made contact with Lincoln, he couldn't sleep. He lay in his cell bunk, on the uncomfortable and thin mattress, feeling the anxiety churning around in his gut. He couldn't stop himself from the incessant question of whether this was a bad idea. But the primary thing on his mind was succeeding.

Michael was used to succeeding. It wasn't always easy, but he was extremely stubborn. And he knew he would simply have to be even more stubborn this time. Prison was an entirely new ballgame. It was like nothing he'd experienced before. He knew that no matter how much research and preparation went into it, there was no way to prepare himself for every angle.

Tomorrow, he knew he would see Lincoln. He knew he would be at the prison church services, and he would wait for him there. A certain amount of dread weighed him down. He wasn't exactly sure why. He felt a certain level of apprehension in seeing his brother without being able to fully prove himself and his plans. The only thing he knew was that Lincoln would not be pleased to see him in prison. He had to make sure he could explain to him.

It was quite a jump. From grad student to a couple years of success in the "real world"… to an armed robbery of a bank in order to throw himself into maximum security prison. It was one of the biggest explanations he would ever have to make.

He stared at the wall of the cell, at the bars, at the hard floor… and suddenly felt very empty inside. To be honest, he'd felt empty for quite a long time. This just cemented it. He hadn't been the same person in a long time.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A lot flashed through Michael's mind when Lincoln first saw him.

At first, it was simply the image of his brother so restrained. The chains, going around his waist, binding his wrists… From a distance he'd seen Lincoln out in the yard, separate from the rest of the prisoners, but now, up close, it was different. The sight of Lincoln so… tied down; it was hard to actually comprehend. Lincoln was not one to be easily restrained.

His walk was complacent yet discouraged. Several emotions went through Michael when Lincoln actually looked up and saw him. When surprised recognition paled Lincoln's face, Michael froze, feeling a moment of fear flicker through him. Fear both for his brother and of him.

"Michael."

Michael swallowed and just stood there. Suddenly it seemed so impossible. All of his plans seemed like such a far cry, a futile attempt at the impossible. It had barely even started, and suddenly he already felt like he had failed.

Lincoln walked towards him, and he stiffened. There was that look on his face. Disappointment. Michael hated that look. It was before he could even explain why he too was there. Why he, someone Lincoln had spent most of his life trying to keep from the streets, was right there with him in prison. Of course he would look disappointed. He would probably be mad. He didn't understand yet.

"Why?" Lincoln asked, looking more helpless than exasperated or angry.

Michael paused for just a moment, trying to take in his brother's look. The frustration on his face filled him with uncertainty, and a yearning to have a minute to explain.

"I'm getting you out of here," Michael explained.

Lincoln glanced away for a moment as a guard called his name, telling him to leave. He gave his brother another look and set his jaw. "That's impossible."

"Not if you designed the place, it isn't," Michael replied. It wasn't much of an explanation yet, but it was all he could muster for now. Lincoln didn't at all look convinced. He looked like another weight had been dropped on top of him.

That was it for now. There was no extra time for explanations.

When Michael left, Lincoln stood there, frozen and silent. Despite his sweatshirt and the warm room, he suddenly felt chilled. Michael in Fox River. Michael, his younger brother, who had no criminal record and no prior convictions. What had he done?

Despair settled over him and was only slightly shaken when the guard barked his name again. He reluctantly followed and made his way out of the small chapel. He wanted to see Michael again. Wanted to shake him, figure out what was on his mind. It was always impossible to find out what exactly was on his mind. Michael always had some big plan, some drawn out and lengthy explanation, and his mind never worked the same way as Lincoln's. This couldn't be any different.

Michael hadn't suddenly turned into a convict. There was something behind this. He'd said, "I'm getting you out", but what really did he mean?

He cursed to himself, clenching his fists and listening to the clink of his chains. In abandoning Michael yet again, this time through death row, he'd at least had the satisfaction of knowing Michael had _something,_ a good head on his shoulders and a job, that would keep him taken care of. He'd still have Veronica, who would still mother him when he needed it, he had LJ to remind him of Lincoln and who he at least would see have a future.

Prison. It didn't make any sense.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Lincoln had just grabbed a can of paint when he saw Michael again, wearing the same blue coveralls as the rest of the convicts in PI. He gave him a puzzled look as he walked over. Michael had the same concentrated look on his face that he often had, concentrating so hard it seemed like it hurt. Looking at things, through things, differently than anyone else.

"Michael."

Picking up a bin of paint rollers, Michael looked up at him, almost a smile on his lips. "Step one."

"Step one, what does that mean?" Lincoln answered. "How did you even get PI?"

"I told you. I planned—"

"Come here," Lincoln commanded. "Talk to me."

Michael hesitated, glancing around. "Can we talk here?"

"For a minute. Look at you. What is this, Michael?"

"I told you."

"You told me nothing," Lincoln answered stiffly. "I don't _understand_, Michael. What did you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you in here?"

"I'm going to—"

"No," Lincoln interrupted, slamming the paint can down on the counter beside them. Michael flinched and a couple of the other cons glanced over for a second before returning to their own preparations. Lincoln tried to calm himself. This wasn't the time or the place, but he just needed to… "What did you _do_?"

Michael eyed him carefully, his blue eyes analyzing his mood. "There's no need to be mad. You're not gonna change what I did by being mad."

Lincoln stepped up to him, close enough to breathe on him. "You shouldn't be in here."

Michael looked around the room calmly. The calm look irritated his brother even more. The way Michael was looking around, like he knew this place better than anyone else did, after being here for how long? Lincoln couldn't stand it.

Michael answered, "I know what I'm doing, Linc. When I can, I'll explain it all to you. For now—"

Lincoln grabbed Michael's jaw in his hand, forcing his brother's chin up, making him look at him, silencing him. How he used to force him to focus. No more of this analyzing the room, the others, their functions. He had to focus. "Did you think," he demanded, "that I would be _happy _to see you here?"

"No," Michael admitted, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Not right away."

"Is this my fault somehow?" Lincoln persisted. "Are you trying to punish me even more with this?"

"No. I told you, Linc. I have it planned out. You just have to trust me." He pulled away.

"Trust you? This is the stupidest thing you've ever done." Lincoln dropped his hands to his sides, shaking his head. "For a smart guy, you do some really stupid stuff, Michael. Really stupid. How long are you in here for?"

"I'm getting you out," Michael said, in a soft voice so no one else could hear. "I'm not just saying it, Lincoln. I have it all planned out." He had a glint in his eye. It scared Lincoln.

"This isn't one of your little projects at work, Mike. You can't just _plan _an escape from a maximum security prison. If it was that easy—"

"I know. Why won't you…" Michael grew frustrated. Didn't Lincoln even want the slightest bit of hope that he would get out of here? He was innocent. Why should he die for a crime he hadn't committed? Michael was going to get him out of here. As hard as it seemed. Michael had done plenty of hard things before, so had Lincoln. This would just be their biggest challenge.

"Just stop being mad and listen," Michael persisted.

"Mad, Michael? Mad doesn't begin to explain it. This isn't a _game_."

"Oh, really?" Michael shot back. "Death row isn't just a _game_?" He saw Lincoln raise his hand and narrowed his eyes. "Hitting me won't change it." It was more of a request than a statement.

Lincoln dropped his hands to his sides. He studied Michael for a moment before noticing the rest of the convicts ready to move onto the hall to paint. They only had a moment left for this talk. "I can't even protect you in here, Michael."

"I don't need you to," Michael answered stubbornly.

"You have _no _idea, do you?" Lincoln answered. He watched Michael swallowing uneasily. "If _I _make you nervous—"

"You don't," Michael retorted.

"You couldn't even defend yourself from kids that wanted your lunch money, Michael. You think you can survive the guys in here that—"

"I won't have to." His voice was stiff.

"Oh, you won't have to. Great, just great." Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Like I need anything else right now. You to worry about, in here."

"Don't worry then," Michael answered. He gripped the bin of rollers.

Lincoln picked the can of paint back up as a guard several feet away yelled for all prisoners to leave the supply room. "You think that's a choice I get to make."

"Lincoln." Michael set his jaw as his brother turned back to look at him. "After PI, I'll show you. Just give me a chance."

Lincoln paused, taking in his brother's imploring look, and then nodded. "Okay. Again, it doesn't seem like a real choice."

"I promise," Michael said with complete certainty, "I will get you out of here, Lincoln."

Lincoln just nodded and had to walk away. In Michael's clear gaze he saw that same devotion from when they were kids, the way Michael used to look up to him, before he turned into a complete failure. It scared him.

Michael watched him leave, an older version of himself. An older now jaded version. His face was prematurely creased with lines of worry, his eyes dark, with the knowledge he could count the days left in his life.

He knew he had to keep his promise.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After PI, Lincoln was calmer, as though he'd been able to think about everything. Michael hoped that would happen. After all, what was done was done. The plan was already underway, and there was no way to suddenly change his mind retroactively and not be in prison.

He felt better when he was able to explain to Lincoln his connection to the prison. He wanted to laugh when he showed Lincoln his 'blueprints' because the expression on Lincoln's face was priceless. He figured it was mostly horror since upon first glance the tattoo just looked enormous and mostly meaningless. That was the point. But it had more than meaning.

"You're ruining your life for this," Lincoln reminded him, with less animosity now, but still a sense of disappointment.

"I'm not ruining anything," Michael answered. He pulled his shirt on, covering up the tattoos. "I'm fixing something."

"If you fail… You'll still be in here. It's not like you get to go home once I die."

"I've never failed," Michael answered, and it was mostly true. He'd never failed anything that mattered. And this certainly mattered.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_When Michael was sixteen, Lincoln went to jail for fifteen days on assault charges. Michael didn't even know the complete details, and he was kind of afraid to ask. He just knew that he had the apartment to himself for fifteen days. It also meant that Lincoln was probably going to lose his job and that Veronica would probably be calling him all the time to check up on him like he was a baby._

_First it was sort of peaceful, but it got tiring after a while, going to school and coming back to an empty apartment. This had happened a couple times before, and he was particularly used to going to bed without being sure where Lincoln was, but he still never got used to it. One thing he was thankful for was that Lincoln rarely brought any friends back with him. None of his friends were much to speak of. And they had never come around without Lincoln._

_Independence was boring after a little while, and he started to accept the invitations to go to a few parties during the week. Lincoln had always teased him for being "nerdy", but more than anything he usually found parties more overwhelming than anything else. Too much stimuli all at once, and too much to take in. He liked situations which he could control._

_Which made the one night in particular that he came home even more ironic. The worst part was, he wasn't expecting Lincoln to be back._

_But there he was, sitting with Veronica on the couch, glasses of wine in front of them as they watched TV. _

_When Michael stumbled through the door, his first instinct was surprise that they were there, but his second thought was surprise that someone could celebrate getting out of jail with wine. It seemed weird._

_Next he just focused on how his plan to just drop into bed and fall into a deathlike sleep was gone._

_"Michael," Lincoln began. "You're home late."_

_Michael frowned. "Why are you here?" He dropped his keys accidentally as he tried to close the door behind himself. He wasn't sure what time it actually was._

_"I live here," Lincoln answered. He watched Michael crouch down and clumsily grab his keys. "Are you drunk?"_

_"No," Michael answered quickly as he stood up. A little too quickly, and he leaned back against the door for a moment to hold back some dizziness. _

_"Okay. C'mere, Mike," Lincoln persisted, waving him over._

_"No, I'm tired…" The truth was, he didn't feel too well, and he really didn't like how he felt on top of that, even before he'd started to feel sick. His head was spinning, and it had been hard enough making it up the stairs to their apartment. He really didn't need Lincoln to get angry with him right now._

_"Come here," Lincoln persisted. _

_"Why are you here?" Michael asked again, frowning. He started walking across the room, towards the bedroom, which they shared, and wondered if he was walking straight. The carpet seemed to be moving, like waves of the ocean. He wanted to describe it to Lincoln, but thought he'd get mad. _

_"It's been fifteen days, Mike," Veronica spoke up. "I told you yesterday he would be coming home today."_

_"You did?" Michael didn't remember. He'd started to ignore a lot of what Veronica told him on the phone. Most of the conversation was making sure he was eating and going to school, and making sure he was okay. He actually thought that the two of them had broken up so he was a little surprised she was so involved. She'd always been nice to him though._

_"Yeah, I did," she persisted with a frown. "Are you okay?"_

_"Sure, yeah," Michael persisted, stopping just outside the bedroom. "I just didn't know it was fifteen days already. Well I don't know if that's an already or a finally..." He shook his head. "I always forget how long they'll put you away for. For whatever the hell you did this time."_

_"Michael," Lincoln objected. "Come on…"_

_"Why are you celebrating it, anyway? Wine and all…" _

_Lincoln pushed himself off the couch and started over. "What are you celebrating anyway, Mike? Don't you have school tomorrow?"_

_"Tomorrow," Michael echoed. The carpet was still waving around. "Nah. Tomorrow's a holiday."_

_"Yeah, what holiday?'_

_Michael made a face. "You don't even go to school. Gimme a break. Do you—You don't even have a job now, do you? So just… lay off… Like you… Laid off."_

_"Lincoln, don't get mad at him," Veronica objected, watching her boyfriend's face cloud over. _

_Lincoln grabbed Michael by his upper arms, looking at him sternly. "What's with the attitude? This what you've been doing while I'm gone, Michael?"_

_"No…" Michael objected. "No." It hurt where Lincoln was grabbing him. He should have expected this. _

_"Then what is this?"_

_"I really don't feel well," Michael admitted as he tried to squirm out of Lincoln's hold._

_"Look at me," Lincoln insisted. "You said you're not drunk. Since when are you lying to me?"_

_"Well, I'm not simply drunk…" Michael answered. He suddenly wished that was all he was, because then maybe he wouldn't feel so sick. The carpet looked stormy now. The waves were getting bigger._

_"Then what?" Lincoln lifted his hand to tilt his brother's chin up, to see his eyes. _

_"I really…" Michael persisted softly. "I really don't feel…"_

_"Are you high?" Lincoln demanded. "Since when do you smoke?" When Michael didn't answer, Lincoln slapped his cheek. "Hey. Answer me."_

_That was when Michael bent over and threw up. All over Lincoln's shoes._

_"Oh, God…" Lincoln pulled away, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Fuck, Michael…" he complained. "You really just… God…."_

_"I told you…" Michael whimpered. _

_Veronica was up, and took Lincoln's arm. "It's fine…" she persisted, sighing. She should have known it was going to be stressful seeing Lincoln right after he got back home. But she had no idea Michael would add to the stress. She expected a fight or something between the two brothers, there always was when Lincoln was feeling apologetic about something and Michael was just feeling neglected. Michael always argued an apology, like he felt he didn't deserve it._

_"How is it fine?" Lincoln retorted, staring at his shoes. "That's disgusting…"_

_Michael wanted to tell him it could've been worse. He'd thrown up a lot more outside in the alley before walking into the apartment building. But he was afraid to. Instead he said, "The rug isn't swimming anymore."_

_"What?" Lincoln gave him an incredulous look. _

_"C'mere, Mike." Veronica took his arm, pulling him towards the bathroom. They left Lincoln out there and shut the door behind them. _

_Michael stumbled into the small bathroom, feeling despair all around him and watching dancing linoleum tiles. It suddenly felt very unfair. He sank down to the floor next to the toilet, head in his hands. _

_"You okay?" she asked him. "Are you going to be sick again?"_

_Michael sniffled to himself. "No…"_

_"What is it?"_

_Michael rubbed at his eyes and told himself not to be a baby. Veronica already treated him like a baby. "He's gonna kill me…"_

_"No…" she answered. "Michael. He was worried you weren't home, but he's just tired. That's all."_

_"He'll kill me…"_

_"No. He just got out this afternoon… You have to give him a break too."_

_"He will though…" Michael persisted. "As soon as you leave…"_

_"I'm not leaving. And he won't. It's stress."_

_"I'm stressed…" Michael retorted irritably, wiping tears off his cheeks. _

_She crouched down next to him, ignoring the fact that he smelled like booze, smoke, and vomit. He looked extremely depressed and his eyes were filled with tears. Her heart suddenly went out to him. "Because of you or him?"_

_"Both… And because of the carpet."_

_"We can clean the carpet?"_

_"It's swimming."_

_Veronica just frowned at him. "Where'd you go tonight?"_

_"I don't know…" He rubbed at his face. "Some school friends. I don't really know… I hate… I hate how I feel right now… It's frustrating…" _

_She touched his cheek. "Make sure you're not gonna be sick again. I'll get you some water. Then we'll just go to bed, okay?"_

_"I guess." He wasn't sure what this whole 'we' thing was._

_Veronica sighed and got up again, leaving him sitting on the floor, and closed the door behind her._

_She found Lincoln on his knees outside, with a roll of paper towels and the garbage can from the kitchen. He was scrubbing at the carpet furiously. When he noticed her, he looked up with a sickened expression. "I haven't had to clean up his puke since he was like eight years old. I don't know what's up with him."_

_"Lincoln…" she said quietly._

_"I really hope he puked all over the bathroom too," he persisted. "Is that what you're gonna tell me? So that I'll have more to clean up as soon as I'm done with this?"_

_"Honey." She shook her head. "No…"_

_"I threw out my shoes."_

_"Why?"_

_"Why? Veronica. Because they're covered—"_

_"Lincoln. Leave it alone. Your shoes will be fine; I'll clean them off if you want. It's just puke."_

_"Just puke?" he echoed. _

_"Lincoln," she persisted. "Just relax, okay? Relax, so you can go tell Mike you love him and we can all just go to sleep."_

_"Tell him I love him?"_

_"Well, don't you?"_

_"Not right now," he retorted. "I saw enough vomit in jail. I don't need to come home and—" He shook his head, interrupting himself. "Okay, okay. I'll stop. Look, you can go home if you want. I know this kind of changes everything. I didn't think Mike would pull a three-sixty on me tonight, you know?"_

_"He's had a rough week too, you know," she replied. _

_He raised his eyebrows, throwing a wad of discolored paper towels into the trash. "V. I know you're trying to make me not mad at him, but—"_

_"You think it's easy for a sixteen year old to be alone for over two weeks, Linc? I'm just asking you to take it easy on him. You forget how sensitive he is."_

_"How can I forget," Lincoln muttered. "You think I don't feel bad already for what happened? It's not like I wanted to get locked up for two weeks. He's alone enough as it is."_

_"I know…" She ran her hand down his back. "Honey, I know… You just have to calm down. Think about it. We still have wine left… We'll have it as soon as he goes to bed…"_

_"I'm gonna have an ulcer, that's what I'm gonna have…"_

_Veronica spoke softly. "I told him I'd get him water… And he could just go to bed… Then me and you…"_

_"You told him, me and you?"_

_She laughed. "No, Linc. That's what I'm telling you now."_

_"Well, I hope the smell of puke turns you on."_

_"We could shower."_

_Lincoln smiled a little. "You're a tease."_

_She laughed. "There's that smile. I knew it was hidden inside somewhere, you grump."_

_He smirked. "Yeah, yeah…" He looked at the carpet disdainfully for a second. "This shitty carpet… Good thing it's a hundred years old." _

_"Let me get him some water, and I'll be right back."_

_Lincoln got to his feet, shaking his head. "I'll do it, V. You're doing too much as it is. Thank you, though. Just sit, and I'll put him to bed." _

_She sighed as he left for the kitchen. _

_Lincoln grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with tap water. As he did so, he looked around the kitchen. It was really clean. In fact it was cleaner than when he'd left two weeks ago. Michael was pretty orderly, and it must've gotten on his nerves while he was alone. As Lincoln thought about the rest of the house, he realized it had been pretty clean as well. At least that was one thing he could count on._

_He shut the faucet off and realized he probably should have washed his hands before touching the glass. Then he realized that it was Mike's vomit anyway and what should he care? _

_Veronica was cleaning up the rest of the carpet when he walked back inside. She threw a paper towel in the trash as he stopped beside her. _

_"Leave it, it's fine…" Lincoln answered. "Make him do it in the morning."_

_"Do you have carpet cleaner?" she asked._

_He shrugged. "Maybe? I have no idea."_

_"I'll look. Otherwise we'll leave it," she answered, heading back to the kitchen where he'd just come from. _

_Lincoln opened the door to the bathroom and viewed his brother there on the tile looking miserable. He was leaning back against the tub wall with his head tilted back, his eyes locked on the ceiling. When the door opened, he abruptly moved his head straight. He looked at Lincoln in surprise. _

_Immediately his face scrunched up like he was going to cry. "I told you…" he said in near whimper. "I told you I didn't feel well." He shifted on the floor uneasily._

_"I know," Lincoln admitted. "Don't get all upset like a girl, Michael."_

_"I'm sorry…" Michael rubbed at his face, rubbing away the tears that he could. _

_Lincoln walked over, flipping down the seat of the toilet to sit and holding the glass of water. "What's the deal?"_

_"I didn't know you were home," Michael admitted._

_"So that made it okay? Look at you."_

_"I'm glad you are though," Michael persisted. "Even if you're gonna kill me."_

_"I'm not…" Lincoln almost laughed. He reached down and rubbed Michael's hair roughly. "What's the point, if you won't even remember it tomorrow?" he teased._

_Michael turned his head into Lincoln's hand, absorbing the touch, and Lincoln's hand slipped to the back of his neck. _

_"I never know how you smoke this stuff…" Michael said softly._

_"I don't," Lincoln answered, pulling his hand back. But it was a lie._

_"My head's all… I mean the vodka was one thing… That's kind of fine… but… this…"_

_"Then why'd you do it?"_

_"I don't know. I thought… it might clear my head or something. My head's been more jumbled recently, and I…" Michael's brow furrowed. "There's so much going on with everything…" He stared at the sink. _

_Lincoln pushed the glass of water into Michael's hand. "Here." _

_"I'm not thirsty."_

_"Drink it anyway," Lincoln muttered. _

_"It makes me want to throw up."_

_"It's water." Lincoln closed Michael's hand over the glass. "God, Michael, you're so frustrating sometimes." _

_"Is it better in jail?" _

_Lincoln rolled his eyes and leaned against the cold porcelain back of the toilet. "Michael."_

_"Well, I'm just wondering. With me and the… Oh yeah… Lisa showed up with LJ on Sunday. She didn't know. She said—"_

_"Fuck…" Lincoln cursed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "I should have called her. God, I'm fucking that up. I'm fucking that up so bad…"_

_"She said she would call you. He can ride a bike now," Michael persisted. "Without training wheels. I told him—"_

_"Just shut up, Michael," Lincoln persisted, clenching his fists. He shook his head, so angry at himself. "Just stop."_

_Michael froze. "What'd I do?"_

_"What haven't you done, tonight?" Lincoln answered irritably. _

_Michael set down the glass of water on the floor and scrambled to his feet. "Fine. Fine. Fine," he sputtered, moving to walk away. Lincoln caught him by his arm and pushed him back. Unsteady on his feet, he sat down hard on the wall of the bathtub, sulking. He didn't know what to say now. Instead, he studied the toilet that Lincoln was sitting on, eyes moving to the wall, thinking about the pipes. If he looked down the linoleum would dance again._

_"I'm sorry," Lincoln said simply. "It's not your fault, kid, okay?"_

_"I'm sorry too," Michael replied reflexively. _

_"I'm just mad about Lisa," Lincoln explained. "And not being responsible. I can't even take care of you, never mind a four year old." _

_"I don't need taking care of," Michael objected. "I just spent two weeks—"_

_"Look at you. Look at yourself and tell me you don't—"_

_"This is how you look almost every night," Michael pointed out. "This is just once, and I always go to bed before you, and you looked worse than this when you got arrested this time."_

_"I'm not sixteen."_

_"So when I'm your age I can go and—" Michael shut his mouth when Lincoln slapped the back of his head. _

_"No," Lincoln retorted. "And you know it, so tonight isn't the night to start that."_

_"I'm just saying…" Michael said softly. "If maybe you—"_

_"Enough, Michael."_

_"Ask Veronica…" Michael said quickly after just a slight pause. "She agrees with me." Then he flinched like he was expecting Lincoln to slap him again. _

_"I'm sure she does," was all Lincoln replied. _

_A moment of silence passed between them. Michael inched closer to him on the tub and leaned down to rest his head on Lincoln's lap. Lincoln sighed and patted his brother on the cheek._

_"Just don't throw up on my pants too, because then I will beat the shit out of you."_

_"I'm not…" Michael muttered. "But I don't know where I'd throw up if I wanted to, since you're sitting on the only thing…"_

_"You're right." Lincoln pushed Michael off of him and stood up. "Wash up for bed, Mike."_

_Michael watched him leave, feeling a pang of disappointment at the very brief affection he'd gotten out of his brother. After two weeks, he just wanted to make sure he was still Lincoln. _

_He almost kicked over the glass of water before remembering it was there. He dumped it out and set it on the sink before looking at himself in the mirror. He didn't think he looked that bad. His eyes were just kind of red. _

_With a sigh he just brushed his teeth, getting rid of the taste of puke and alcohol. He washed his hands and briefly threw water on his face. He felt a little bit better. Throwing up had actually cleared his head a little bit. He was thankful for that. _

_He wanted to talk to Lincoln more. He saw Veronica sitting on the couch, watching TV like they had been when he first came in. "Where's my brother?" he asked her._

_"In the kitchen. How are you feeling?"_

_"Fine," he answered, glancing down at the carpet. Its waves were softer now, he could just ignore them. He walked towards the kitchen and found Lincoln in there pouring more wine into the two glasses sitting on the counter. He watched him, realizing that Lincoln probably wouldn't want to talk to him with Veronica here._

_"Lincoln," he said._

_"Yeah, Mike." Lincoln finished the bottle between the two glasses and looked up at his brother. "What?"_

_"Are you gonna be mad at me tomorrow?" Michael walked over and leaned against the counter next to Lincoln._

_"Not if tonight goes well." Lincoln indicated the wine glasses with a smirk. At least he seemed in a better mood. That made Michael pretty glad that Veronica was there. _

_"Because…" Michael persisted. _

_"Because?"_

_"Nothing…" Michael paused for a moment and then shifted over and gave Lincoln a hug. "I'm glad you're back."_

_Lincoln stood there for a moment, a little surprised, and then hugged him back briefly. Michael's arms were still around his waist fairly tight. "You're still drunk, aren't you?" Lincoln answered. _

_"I missed you," Michael persisted. _

_Lincoln rubbed his back. "Okay. I missed you too." Michael's grip stayed tight. "Okay, baby. Okay." He patted him on the back. "Enough, Mike." _

_Michael let him go. Lincoln turned away from him and took the two glasses of wine. "Go to bed," he said. "You'll feel better in the morning. And then you can clean the carpet."_

_"I thought you and Veronica were over."_

_Lincoln shook his head. "Not yet."_

_"How does she put up with you?"_

_With a smile, Lincoln answered, "You're still here too." _

_"Maybe we're both crazy. Although my shrink strangely denies it."_

_"Go to bed."_

_"Right." Michael took a couple steps away. "Oh. And wear a condom, Linc. One kid is enough."_

_"You should thank God that I'm holding two glasses of wine," Lincoln answered, "and just go to bed."_

_Michael didn't need to be told again. He knew he'd get an earful from Lincoln the next day anyway. _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Michael found himself pulled into an empty stockroom and shoved to the ground, the words of his brother passed through his mind in a fleeting instant. About how he wouldn't be able to take care of himself, and how no one would protect him. His talks with him in the chapel, their easy time to whisper, focused around this.

"You don't go looking for trouble in here," Lincoln had told him, "it just _finds you_."

Lincoln thought he was foolish. Trusting C-Note for Pugnac, or Abruzzi, even worse, for information. How he could step into this prison and without the least bit of hesitation approach this people as part of his plan. The war between the blacks and the whites itself was enough to make him need to back down.

Michael ignored him, pushing Lincoln's words to the back of his mind. Even if his brother didn't believe him, he could put up with being pushed around a bit. He was smarter than most of the inmates and could talk his way out, connive his way out, of most situations. He could defend himself when needed and the rest of the time he would just stay out of trouble.

But now, as he felt the pain shoot up his legs from his knees hitting the hard concrete ground, he couldn't ignore the intense fear that crept into his gut.

Three guys stood there with evil grins on their faces. Michael tried to size them up, like he'd been taught to as a kid, find the strongest to the weakest. They all looked kind of strong.

"Just as pretty up close…" one of them sneered. He had scraggly hair and scar across his cheek. He stood with another taller man while the third stood by the door, as though keeping watch. "They were right."

"What are you—" Michael began but was soon cut off.

"Don't open your mouth…" the man warned him stiffly, withdrawing a jagged blade from his belt, "until I got something for you to put in it…"

The taller one laughed and approached him. "You look good on your knees, pretty boy… You should get used to that."

Michael narrowed his eyes, fear mixing with anger. He didn't want to react too hastily, but he started to climb to his feet. "Look, I don't want any trouble—"

"Then stay down." The man shoved him down, and with a strong hand pushed him down to the floor. "And you won't have any trouble at all." He pushed him down roughly, forcing him face down on the concrete.

Michael let out a jagged breath, the floor cold beneath him. The man's arm held him across his neck, pinning him. Michael remembered when Lincoln used to pin him like that when they fought. It was damn hard to get up from it.

"What do you want…" Michael asked.

"I think you know what we want…" the one with the blade replied as he walked around him. He dropped down to crouch and patted him on the seat of the pants. "I think you know exactly what we want."

A cold feeling went through Michael as the two men simply laughed.

"Fear is a pretty look," the man holding him down remarked.

"Sure is," said the other.

Michael yelled for a guard but immediately a hand was slapped over his mouth.

"You know, I knew he'd be a screamer," the man holding him said harshly. "Didn't I say so? But God damn. We ain't even started yet." He pushed his hand down over his mouth harder. "You know, it'll hurt less the first time if you just relax…"

Michael couldn't relax. He struggled as the man holding him took the blade and the other grabbed the waistband of his pants, trying to yank them down.

"Calm down," the man snapped as Michael writhed beneath him. "Jesus Christ."

Michael let out a muffled protest just as the man watching the door suddenly barked at them. "Guys. We got company."

Like an answered prayer, the two men jumped off of him just as the stockroom door slammed open and C.O. Bellick sauntered in, eyeing the scene. He looked at the two standing aside and down at Michael on the ground. "It's a little early for this, guys, let's wrap it up and get out. Scofield, get the fuck up."

"Boss, we just need five minutes," the man with longer hair answered slyly. "Show him the ropes."

"Not today, guys," Bellick answered. "I don't have time for this. We gotta be out on the yard."

The two strolled out of the room as Michael crawled to his feet, brushing off the dust from his shirt and pants. He felt Bellick's eyes on him and swallowed, looking up at him.

"You look pale, Scofield," the C.O. remarked with a bit of a sinister grin on his face. "Did I interrupt some fun?"

"Thanks, boss," Michael answered, moving towards the door.

Bellick leaned in the doorway, blocking his exit. "You understand the dynamics here, don't you, Scofield? A little bit against me, and I can make your time here a living hell. If those boys want a piece, they get a piece, you understand?"

"Sure, boss…" Michael persisted, eyeing the door.

"Good. I'm glad we have an understanding."

Michael moved past him, to the hall. He felt he'd done nothing to piss off Bellick, nothing to make him have any animosity for him. However, he felt the officer's scrutiny constantly, since the day he stepped into the prison. It made him nervous to have somebody watching so closely, particularly when there was so much to be done out of sight.

Sucre, Michael's cellmate, was standing a few feet down the hall and caught Michael's eye as he approached. Michael joined his side without a word as they walked with another line of inmates towards the exit for the yard.

"You okay?" Sucre asked.

"Yeah."

"I saw them pull you aside," Sucre explained. "I told the guard to check out the stockroom."

Michael nodded, swallowing a bit. He felt a bit shaken up by what had almost happened, but he tried not to let it show. He was pretty good at masking his tone, keeping an even and nonchalant pitch to his voice. "Thanks."

"Hey, no problem, fish…" Sucre answered. "They always go for the new skin, you know? But you're my cellie, gotta watch out for each other."

"Yeah. Thanks, man."

"They touch you?" Sucre had a concerned look on his face.

Michael shook his head, not wanting to talk about it. The fear was still tingling through his veins and he tried to ignore it. "No, I'm fine."

"If they knew Burrows was your bro," Sucre continued, "they'd leave you alone. Except he's not in Gen Pop anymore, you know? But he was a bull out here."

"I can take care of myself," Michael answered simply. "I don't need a bodyguard."

"You do in here, papi," Sucre laughed. "We all need someone to watch our back. Especially in the beginning."

Michael nodded. He was going to reply but by the time they reached the yard, Sucre had already moved on in conversation to his girlfriend and how he'd met her. He started to tell him about conjugals and how much he missed her. Michael half-listened, thinking about his plans, and trying to calm down.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

At PI, a hand on his back made Michael nearly drop his paint roller. He turned abruptly and was relieved to find it was only Lincoln. He looked down at the paint he'd splattered on the floor. Good thing there was plastic down. It wasn't much anyway.

"What's the matter?" Lincoln asked in a low voice.

"Nothing." Michael considered telling him about the screw out in the yard that he would use in his cell to unbolt his toilet. But Lincoln wouldn't understand it yet, and it was just the beginning of the plans. The less Lincoln knew now the better.

"Nothing," Lincoln echoed. "You're a terrible liar. It's all over your face."

"Nothing," Michael answered. "We're on schedule."

"On schedule… Michael, what's the matter?"

Michael shook his head, running the roller up and down the wall. "Remember when we painted that apartment? Blue. It looked so bad."

"Michael."

Michael looked up at him, brow furrowed. "_What_, Lincoln?"

"You had a look. What are you worried about?"

"I'm not. Schweitzer. Allen. We're on track."

"Schweitzer? Who the hell is that? Did he touch you?"

Michael almost wanted to laugh. "No. It's not a who."

"Michael, if you want me not to worry… then give me a reason not to worry." Lincoln gave him an intense look.

Michael set his jaw and continued to paint. "Lincoln, I can take care of myself. I know who I need, and who I don't… What I need… It'll all work out, we're on schedule."

"Right now, I don't care about your schedule," Lincoln answered stiffly. "I care about you getting out of here untouched."

"Well, there's nothing you can do from behind your chain-linked fence," Michael answered.

"I knew it. I knew this would happen. Who, Michael?"

"Nobody did anything to me."

"Then why'd you jump like that when I touched you?"

"Because you _snuck up _onme," Michael insisted.

"Michael," Lincoln persisted. "I told you this would happen. What'd they do to you?"

"Burrows!" a guard yelled. "Back to _work_!"

Lincoln nudged Michael. "C'mon. Tell me you're okay."

"I did. A million times."

"You don't look it."

Michael lowered the paint roller and stared at Lincoln. "Linc. How am I supposed to look? I have a million things going on in my head right now."

"You always do," Lincoln pointed out. "This is different. I just want to make sure you don't get hurt."

"I won't."

Lincoln didn't look like he believed him. He looked around the room, at the guard now talking to another inmate, and decided not to push the subject. "I saw Veronica."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "You did…?"

"She told me to call you off."

"Call me off?" Michael shook his head. "She doesn't know what I'm—"

"She guessed," Lincoln shot back. "Anyone who knows you would, Michael. You were a good kid. You weren't on the path to prison."

"So I finally cracked. It's not that hard to believe. The bank had too many ATM fees." Michael shrugged. "What's she say? She working on the case?"

"She doesn't believe me," Lincoln answered. "She saw the tape."

Michael paused. "What tape?"

"Forget it. It's not… It's not what happened…" Lincoln leaned his head back and sighed. "Nothing looks like what happened. She's… Well, shit, I don't know how much of Veronica I'll see again."

"Well, you fucked that up in more ways than one," Michael answered, beginning to paint again. He moved the roller up and down, feeling Lincoln's frustration pulsing off of him. "Look, Linc." He looked up to find a glare. "We'll get out of here."

"Two, maybe three years you can be out if you don't act up, Mikey."

Michael frowned at the affectionate name and Lincoln's serious tone. "With my plan, I'll be out much, much sooner."

"They catch you and they'll slap ten years on, no question, Mike."

"But they won't catch us."

"If you can survive in here long enough to do it."

Michael pushed the roller harder against the wall.

"Burrows!" the guard shouted again. "What do you think this is? Tea time?"

Lincoln stepped away, going back to his part of the wall. Michael returned to painting, thinking about what was behind his cell wall and what he needed to get there.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

to be continued


	2. Chapter 2

Like I said before, I'm new to this fandom so I'm not really sure what people want to see. If you have any comments or suggestions (like include Sarah?) , please let me know, and thanks to those who have reviewed, I really appreciate it!

**Chapter 2**

_"Michael, hurry up."_

_Lincoln watched his eight year old brother mechanically pull on his shoes, one at a time, and tie them. Tie them perfectly. When it wasn't perfect, he pulled them loose and retied them. It was respectful that he was putting so much effort into it, but it was something so menial that it was driving Lincoln crazy._

_"I am hurrying," Michael answered. _

_"No, you're not," Lincoln answered impatiently as Michael pulled his right shoe lace loose again for the fourth time. "God, Michael."_

_Michael looked up at him, wrinkling his nose. "God, Lincoln," he echoed._

_Lincoln glanced at the clock. The bus left in ten minutes. It took about ten minutes to get to the bus stop from their apartment. And the way Michael would walk… _

_"Don't you understand we're running late?" Lincoln persisted. They were headed to the hospital to see their mother, who seemed to be much sicker this time. Lincoln wasn't sure Michael understood just how sick she was. He was, after all, only eight, and no one had really explained the details to him. He'd seen their mother in the hospital before and probably considered it to be like one of those times. Lincoln felt a bit in the dark himself about the whole situation, but he could tell it was different this time. _

_Lincoln felt a big burden on his shoulders. Both with the realization that his mom was extremely ill and with the duty of taking care of Michael. He'd always had to help out with him, but it was a lot more responsibility now. Most of the time it wasn't too bad; Michael was really smart for his age and pretty easy-going, but sometimes he was too smart, too easily frustrated, and could just be a pain._

_Like now._

_"Come on," Lincoln persisted, losing patience as Michael now pulled the left lace loose. "Are you doing this on purpose because you know I hate it?" He walked over and grabbed his brother by the arm, dragging him to his feet despite Michael's protests. "Mom's waiting."_

_"She'll still be there if I take a second more," Michael protested, but his brother was stronger and not hearing it, so he had to follow him. He looked down at his untied shoe woefully. "It's not tied… Lincoln!" _

_Lincoln stopped short and abruptly knelt down, yanking the laces and tying them. "There."_

_"It's too tight…" Michael objected, reaching down. "You do it too tight…"_

_Lincoln got up and pulled his arm, heading for the front door. "You can fix 'em on the bus."_

_"Linc. I wanna fix them now," Michael persisted._

_Lincoln didn't listen. Instead he dragged them out the door, grabbing the keys and locking up behind them. Down the stairs they went. He kept Michael's hand securely in his own, not risking the chance of him stopping to daydream like he often did, about whatever it was that went on inside Michael's head._

_"You're going too fast…" Michael whined as they walked down the street, trying to tug his hand out of his brother's grasp. He didn't know what the rush was. Buses seemed to come and go all the time. Surely there would be another if they missed the one Lincoln was so anxious about._

_"We're late," Lincoln explained again. "Want me to carry you?"_

_"No. I'm not a baby, Lincoln," Michael answered edgily, as though offended. "What time is the bus?"_

_"Ten minutes."_

_"What time though…?"_

_"One."_

_"And how long does it take to get there?"_

_"The same amount of time it took yesterday."_

_"What time?"_

_"We'll be there at one-thirty…" Lincoln answered with a sigh. Michael was just like their mother in respect to plans. They both always needed to know exactly how things would go and have each part of the trip mapped out. Lincoln preferred to know what was going on and how to get there, but didn't want to worry too much about the details. It was less stress that way._

_"So it takes thirty minutes."_

_"Basic math would say yeah," Lincoln replied._

_"Okay…" Michael answered, as if mentally noting these details. He tugged at his brother's hand. "Linc… It's really tight. And the other one's not tight… Can I fix it?"_

_"No… Wait till we get to the stop."_

_"But I can't… I can't walk like this…" he complained._

_"You're walkin' fine…" Lincoln grew frustrated. "C'mon. Quit bitching at me. We'll be there in a few minutes, and then on a bus if we make it on time…"_

_"You said bitching."_

_"You just said it too then," Lincoln retorted sarcastically._

_"No. I was repeating. That's different."_

_Lincoln rolled his eyes. "God, Michael."_

_"God, Lincoln…"_

_They made it to the bus stop without too much more anxiety and there were a few people waiting. Lincoln let go of Michael's hand and checked his watch. _

_"What time?" Michael asked._

_"It'll be here in a minute," Lincoln told him. He sat down on the bench and his brother sat next to him, reaching over to grab his wrist to look at his watch. _

_Michael shook his head. "We have three minutes. I could've tied—"_

_"Then tie 'em now, stupid," Lincoln answered._

_Michael did. He pulled up his leg and fumbled with his shoe, loosening it and trying to tie it right._

_"We should still get you Velcro," Lincoln said. "Remember Velcro? Wouldn't you like that better? It'd always be perfect."_

_Michael gave Lincoln a defiant look. "I don't need Velcro. I can tie laces fine, Lincoln. Unlike you." He gave Lincoln's dirty sneaker's a snide look._

_"I'm just saying… It would be easier." Lincoln sighed, not sure why he felt so nervous. Maybe it was worry. His aunt had been checking in on them while they were home alone with their mom in the hospital. She dropped off food each night and made sure they'd done their homework. It was nice to have her looking out, but each day her look got progressively worried. _

_Lincoln wasn't sure what to make of it, and no one would talk to him like an adult. He wished they would. He felt enough like an adult, especially now that he did more with Michael. They didn't have to tell Michael what was going on, but they could at least tell him._

_Lincoln noticed the seat beside him empty. He panicked for a minute and then spotted Michael standing in front of the map of the bus schedule. _

_A few more people huddled by the bus stop and then finally the bus came. _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_At the hospital, they stopped in the gift shop downstairs to buy flowers. Bright yellow and purple flowers. Lincoln let Michael carry them as they made their way down the hall, towards the elevators that they knew too well. In the elevator, Michael was fascinated by the wheelchair a woman was sitting in. _

_"It moves by itself," he whispered to Lincoln, looking impressed. _

_"Pretty cool," Lincoln told him. _

_"I want one."_

_Lincoln just laughed at him. "They're pretty expensive for a toy."_

_"Maybe we could build one, Lincoln." That was Michael's new thing, building things. Although his current building supplies consisted of Legos, Linkin' Logs, and random pieces from board games and old toys that he'd pulled apart. Lincoln had to admit that Michael was pretty mechanically inclined at eight, although the extent of his building talent seemed to be forts, not electric wheelchairs. _

_When they reached the fourth floor, Michael led the way out, giving one last glance to the cool wheelchair before starting down the hall towards their mother's room. When they entered, she was sitting up in her bed, a tray of food sitting beside her, and the TV playing a soap opera. She smiled when they entered, but Lincoln couldn't help but notice the dark circles around her eyes and the odd tint to her skin. _

_"There's my boys," she greeted happily. Her eyes lit up at the flowers. "Are those for me?"_

_"Yup!" Michael exclaimed as he rushed over and clambered onto the bed, slipping between her and the bed rail on the side. She kissed him on the cheek as she took the flowers._

_"Thank you, they're gorgeous," she said, giving Lincoln a wink. "I'll love looking at them."_

_"Hopefully they won't die soon," Michael noted, innocent enough, but Lincoln didn't miss the look that flashed across their mother's face, brief but there. He wanted to wallop Michael for it, but he knew the kid didn't know any better. _

_"I hope not either," their mother answered gently, reaching to set them aside on her bed stand. "I'll have to get a vase for them. They have a bunch of extras down by the nurse's station. But how are you, Michael?" she asked, stroking his cheek. "Is Lincoln taking care of my baby?" _

_Lincoln pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed, a little jealous of how Michael was still young enough to cuddle up to their mother like that, watching him rest his head on her shoulder. Sometimes he wished for the same sense of affection, especially now when he saw her like this, but it was harder at his age, especially when he was trying to prove how 'grown up' he was._

_Michael had started to tell her about school and what they were working on, and Lincoln zoned out because Michael had told him the exact same earlier and he didn't want to hear it again. But then after a few minutes she turned her attention to him._

_"How are you doing, Lincoln?" she asked. "Everything okay?" She looked concerned. "Kathy said you seem to have everything under control. My man of the house." _

_He smirked at the title and shrugged. Kathy was their aunt, Mom's sister. "It's easy enough with all the food she drops off. And he's not too bad." He indicated Michael. "We're getting along okay I guess. Not missing any school."_

_"Lincoln got into a fight at school," Michael spoke up. He said it with pride in his voice, and he was indeed proud. He liked having an older brother who was good in fights, and who people talked about impressively in the halls, especially the older kids. He thought it was pretty cool._

_Before Lincoln could object, his mother already had a disappointed look on her face. "Lincoln, again?"_

_"It was nothing," Lincoln answered. _

_"Nothing?" Michael echoed. "But that kid—"_

_"Nothing," Lincoln persisted, quickly slapping Michael's thigh. "Really. Everything's been going really well." Michael made a face but didn't say anything else._

_"Okay, good." Their mother looked slightly relieved._

_They talked for a few minutes more until a nurse came in to take her vitals and do a pain assessment. Michael got off the bed for the nurse and stepped back away from them, a frown on his face. He definitely noticed a difference in his mother. The hospital seemed to be sucking the life out of her. She seemed really tired and constantly had a look of worry on her face. He didn't really like visiting her anymore, because she seemed so different, but he didn't want to say it. _

_The nurse was wrapping the blood pressure cuff around her arm, and Michael turned around to Lincoln, putting his hand on his leg. Lincoln pulled him onto his knee and whispered in his ear, "You think she wants to know I got in a fight? Thanks a lot."_

_Michael squirmed in his lap. "It sounded cool," he answered, and Lincoln couldn't quite be mad at him. Sometimes it was nice that Michael thought everything he did was 'really cool'. _

_"How's the nausea?" the nurse was asking. Michael watched his mother's face as she replied, feeling himself sympathize._

_"On and off," she replied. "I… Tried the lunch, but you know… It's just hard to get it down."_

_The nurse nodded, noting something on the chart. _

_"I feel nauseous too," Michael whispered to Lincoln._

_Lincoln rolled his eyes and didn't respond. Michael always absorbed everybody else's feelings as his own. Lincoln used to think it was for attention, but more and more it seemed like an earnest sympathy that Michael had for other people. Either way, Lincoln couldn't help but roll his eyes. _

_"Kids, why don't you go down the hall for a couple minutes," the nurse suggested. "I want to ask your mom a few personal questions."_

_"Sure," Lincoln agreed, pushing Michael off his lap and standing. "We'll be down the hall."_

_"We'll get the vase for the flowers," Michael persisted._

_Once out in the hall, Lincoln started towards the nurse's station with Michael at his heels. "Mike," he said, "how'd you think Mom looked?"_

_Michael shrugged. "Skinnier. Tired… I dunno. It's… Can I tell you a secret?"_

_"Yeah. What?"_

_Michael paused. "I don't really_…_ like coming here…" he admitted. "It makes me feel sick. How much longer is she gonna be here?"_

_"I don't know." _

_"Can't you get like… an estimate? Like the chances of how long?" Michael persisted. _

_"I don't know."_

_"A day? Two days? A week?"_

_"Mikey. I don't know," Lincoln muttered. "I have no idea." He looked at his brother's sullen face and thought up something for him to do. "Hey, I'm thirsty. You wanna run down to the vending machine?"_

_"Yeah." Michael nodded with a smile. He reached towards Lincoln's pocket. "Can I have money?"_

_"Yeah." Lincoln pulled a couple dollars out of his back pocket. "You remember where it is?"_

_"Two floors down, then right down the hall, then left. Then left again." They were here often enough that he felt like he could tell Lincoln where almost anything was in the hospital. Michael grabbed the money. "Do you think Mommy wants one?"_

_"Just get two. You can only carry two." Lincoln stopped at the nurse's station. "Meet me back here. No stopping off anywhere, okay?"_

_"I'll be really fast," Michael promised. _

_Lincoln nodded and watched him run off towards the elevators. He turned back towards the nurse's desk and leaned his elbows onto the counter, looking at the middle-aged red head sitting behind a computer. Behind her was a chart of the patients' room numbers and the assigned nurses. _

_"Can I help you?" the red head asked._

_"My mom said there were extra vases and stuff her, like for flowers…" Lincoln answered. "Could we get one?" _

_"Oh sure," she answered, getting to her feet. She went over to a cabinet. "We always get a bunch of these left over when patients leave. You're Lincoln aren't you? I think I met you last week." _

_"Yeah, me and my brother have been here a lot."_

_She nodded as she pulled out a yellow vase. "Is this okay?"_

_"Yeah, that's perfect," he answered. "Thanks." He took the vase and was about to step aside when the nurse that had just been in his mother's room stepped up to the desk._

_"Hey," he said._

_She smiled at him. "Hi, honey."_

_"How's my mom doing?"_

_"I increased her painkillers a little bit so she'll be more comfortable," the nurse replied. "That's what's unfortunately causing the nausea, but it's really a trade-off between that and the pain from the surgery… The doctor will be in later today to see her again." _

_"How's she actually doing?" _

_The nurse made a face. "I think it would be better to talk to the doctor about that. It's hard to actually put a time frame on it."_

_"Time frame?" Lincoln echoed. _

_"You know, it's always hard to approximate how much time is left, but you can talk to the doctor about it. He'd be better at talking about her whole condition."_

_Lincoln felt a sense of doom settle over him. He tried not to let it show. "Oh. Thanks." Aunt Kathy had been the one mainly talking to the doctor, and now Lincoln started to realize that maybe that was a mistake. When she relayed what the doctor said to them, she said it with a smile, that their mom was getting better, that the cancer was going away. _

_He walked away from the desk and went to lean against the wall across the hall. Time frame? He really wasn't sure what that meant but he suddenly didn't feel too well. He felt worried. He wished he could talk to his mom about it, but it was a difficult subject to bring up. She always tried to act so happy when they were there. But Lincoln couldn't help but suddenly feel lied to._

_His mind clouded over as he leaned there, watching other patients, visitors, and nurses go by. Life in general had been really different with Mom in the hospital. But he hadn't really thought about it as a permanent change._

_Michael scared him when he shoved a cold can of Coke into his hand. "Here, Linc," he said, and then held his hand out, waiting for Lincoln to open up his own hand so he could drop the change there. _

_"Keep it," Lincoln told him._

_"Really?" Michael stuffed the change into his pocket before he could be told otherwise. "Thanks!"_

_Lincoln smirked at how easy it was to make Michael happy and together they walked back to their mother's hospital room._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Lincoln knew something was wrong with Michael as soon as he saw him sit down on the bench. His face looked dark, and there was something more than his typical thoughtfulness in his expression. Like he was fixated on something and it was driving him insane.

"What's wrong?" Lincoln asked, watching a couple other guys head for the showers, sweaty from PI. He was pretty anxious to get a shower himself.

Michael yanked off one of his boots, frustration written all over his face. "Everything."

"Everything," Lincoln echoed. "Is this about your plan? I knew—"

"No, Lincoln," Michael interrupted. "I mean, it _is_ kind of about it. But you don't need to get that attitude yet."

"So it's not about your plan?"

"Not in the sense of progress."

Lincoln gave him a quizzical look. "Why don't you just _tell _me. There's all this talk of your plan, but I really don't know what you're doing. You claim you can get out of your cell, or you _will_, but you need the Pug…. Pug whatever."

"Pugnac," Michael corrected, his eyes clouding over. "Which is delayed. And I have to go the infirmary in…" He looked his wristwatch. "_Fuck_."

"And if you don't get it… then you're not diabetic. You never were. I don't see that big a deal."

"I told you, Lincoln. I need to get in there."

"I don't know why. You hate hospitals, Michael…"

"The weakest link in the security," Michael said in a whisper. "I told you that already. I'll get the Pugnac." He looked uncertain. "I mean, I will because I have to."

"I don't know what to think, or say. If I say what I think, you're just going to fight me on it, and continue acting like this will work. When so far all I see is you looking like the world's caving in."

"That would be great— if it did cave in," Michael answered, "and made a big hole in the prison wall, and we could all just run out."

"It's a wonder being a smartass can't land you outside these walls, huh?"

Michael pulled off his other boot and frowned. "I'm just thinking… It's ironic…"

Lincoln watched his face. "What is, Michael?"

Michael rubbed at his temples and said, "It's ironic that I'm more of a killer than you are, and you're the one on death row…"

Lincoln shook his head in exasperation. "Michael, you're not a killer."

"But… People are getting hurt now…" Michael thought back on the fight that broke out before in his wing. Where the lineup broke apart and the hostility that had been building between the races exploded. He started to explain it to Lincoln.

"Michael," Lincoln interrupted him. "What happened with the blacks and whites… That's been building… It's not really since you got here. We all knew there was going to be a problem… Don't flatter yourself."

"No. T-Bag's cellmate," Michael insisted. "I needed the screw and so I… But C-Note…"

"Stop it." Lincoln shook his head. "You didn't do anything."

"It was because of me though," Michael insisted.

Lincoln watched Michael's expression change and took a deep breath. "Stop it, Michael. Stop getting upset. You're not gonna last in here if you take every little thing—"

"Every little thing?" Michael retorted, a hitch in his voice. "Linc, he was _stabbed_. Right in front of me. How is that a little thing? He died."

Michael was always sensitive. Michael would always think about anything that had happened for much longer than the average person, weighing out all alternatives, even though they were forgone. In any other situation, Lincoln would try to comfort him. That had always been his role, as the big brother, but this was different. Lincoln wasn't sure how to explain it. He knew Michael's heart was in the right place, but in such a wrong way.

He had too much on his head. He was in this place to die, and here was his little brother being dragged down with him. Lincoln gave him a stern look and then stood up.

"Where are you going?' Michael objected.

"To _shower_." He gave him a look. "I can't coddle you in here, Michael. You need to understand that."

"I just want to talk to you," Michael objected.

"Well, then let's talk about something worthwhile. We don't have an unlimited time to talk here."

Michael made a face. "When we did have an unlimited time to talk, you never did. Remember? You were always messed up. Now we can talk."

"Okay, Michael." Lincoln turned away, starting for the showers. "You got yourself in prison so you could talk to me. Nice."

"No, I don't mean it that way…" Michael stood up, grabbing Lincoln's arm. "I mean, that it's nice that you're clearheaded now and…"

Lincoln turned and looked at him with a frown, shaking his head. "Did I fuck you up that bad? I mean, you are in jail from my raising you, huh?"

Michael was a bit taken back by Lincoln's tone. "Stop… I thought I'd feel better telling you what happened, but I don't…" he admitted. "So I _won't_ burden you with stuff like that. Just…" He wasn't sure what he wanted. He wanted to alleviate himself from what had happened earlier, but he knew things were just going to get worse anyway. It was all the little things he hadn't prepared for. He would still deal with them though.

Lincoln watched his brothers face scrunch up again. "Michael, don't…" he said stiffly. "You wanna go into the showers crying?"

"I'm _not _crying," Michael shot back, setting his jaw. "But doesn't any of this bother you at all?"

"I'm more bothered by the thought of the chair, actually," Lincoln answered slowly. He saw the look that crossed his brother's face and quickly apologized. "I'm sorry, Michael. You know… You know that's not what I meant."

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "Forget it. I… We're on schedule. I can assure you of that."

Lincoln just nodded and allowed himself a little glimmer of hope.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	3. Chapter 3

**_Thanks to everyone who has left a review for the story. I really appreciate it, and I do take any suggestions and comments seriously, so they are welcomed. _  
**

**Chapter 3**

Michael infuriated Lincoln. It was getting too serious, this plan, and he couldn't stand watching it from the other side of the fence. He wanted to know exactly what was going on, and how this was going to pan out. It wasn't enough for Michael to drop him information when convenient. It was hope, but such nervous hope, that he constantly felt like he was going to be sick when Michael explained parts to him.

And when he found out what happened to his brother's toes… That was the last straw. Not even that, but having to hear about it through the grapevine, and then watch Michael on the yard, acting like nothing was wrong. He could see him gingerly walking, raking with the others only when the guards looked over.

It made him furious. If he was on the other side none of this would have happened.

When he slammed his hands up against the chain link fence, Michael didn't even look at him. "I'm gonna kill that scum…" he threatened.

"You won't…" Michael answered, in his too calm voice, which made Lincoln want to shake him. "You kill him and you kill our express ticket out of here."

"Look what he did to you," Lincoln persisted, gripping the fence as he watched Michael stretch out his foot delicately. "You're not gonna last a second in this place unless _I_ do something about it."

He wanted Michael to look at him. He wanted to be on the same side of the fence as him, but if he couldn't do that, he could at least have Michael look at him. He probably wasn't approaching it properly. Michael hated being told he couldn't take care of himself, even if in here it was self-evident. Didn't he see he was changing?

Finally Michael turned towards him, and Lincoln was relieved. Michael looked focused still, and it surprised him. He thought back on the little boy that hysterically cried over a skinned knee, never mind missing _toes_. It exasperated him.

"You ever hear of Top Flight Charters?" Michael asked.

Lincoln gave him an annoyed look at the changed subject, but admitted, "Yeah…" He wanted to talk about Michael's toes, and what they were going to do about _that_, but Michael was already off on this flight topic. When he brought up Abruzzi's connection, the man that had just maimed him, Lincoln felt his anger come back. "You willing to risk the entire escape on a guy you don't even know?"

"Preparation can only take you so far," Michael explained. "After that, you gotta take a few leaps of faith."

Lincoln pushed away from the wall, trying to calm himself. Damn Michael. Damn his _calm. _Lincoln certainly hadn't inherited that patience, from wherever Michael had gotten it from. He didn't know if he was more upset about Michael's persistence or Abruzzi.

"Abruzzi's a huge leap of faith, Michael…" Lincoln pointed out.

"I'm not talking about Abruzzi. There's someone else that holds the key to this entire thing… With him it either works or it doesn't." His eyes flickered off, finding Sucre in the yard. "The problem is, I couldn't know who that was until we got in here."

Lincoln turned and realized who his brother was talking about. He returned to the fence, gripping it. "Sucre? You can't be serious." He walked towards his brother. "The guy's a thief, Michael… He can't be trusted."

"I have to trust him," Michael replied simply. "He's my cellmate."

Lincoln sighed. "How well do you know him?"

"About as well as a man can in a week."

"You tell him, and he tells everyone, we're done. You know that, right?"

"If we don't get him on board, there's not gonna be any digging in our cell. And without digging in that cell, there's no escape."

Lincoln couldn't disagree with his brother's logic, but he still thought it was madness. This whole thing was madness. He watched Michael's feet still, carefully, seeing how he shifted his weight and again felt terrible that he couldn't do something about it. That was his _brother_. Granted, tables had turned in the past few years, and Michael was trying to take care of him, but he couldn't help but _want _to still be a big brother. Michael had grown up too fast, too affected by situation, for his own good.

"I can't believe what you're doing, Michael."

"Well, I think I can trust him."

"I hope you're right. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about all of this. The whole thing."

Michael dragged the rake across the ground and gave his boot a forlorn look. "Toes were overrated."

"Does it hurt?"

Michael looked up at him incredulously. "No. It feels great, Linc. I wish they'd take the others. I was never big on flip flops anyhow."

Lincoln shook his head, giving him an exasperated look. "Don't be sarcastic with me."

"I'm missing two toes. How do you expect it to feel? It was a stupid question."

"You know what I meant, Michael."

Michael didn't answer.

Lincoln studied him, look for a way to change the topic of the conversation. "But I guess it got you into the infirmary again like you needed, so that's a silver lining, right? For whatever business you have to be in there..."

Michael gripped the handle of the rake and replied, "I have the Pugnac now, if that's what you're talking about, with the infirmary. I can get in there plenty of times."

"So she thinks you're diabetic. Is that what the stuff was for?"

"She?" Michael echoed quizzically.

"The good old Dr. Tancredi." Lincoln didn't try to hide his teasing tone. "You know damn well who I was referring too."

Michael looked up at his brother with a forced frown. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Because. Isn't your goal to see her there?"

"No. It's the room."

Lincoln gave him a smirk. "Why are you blushing?"

Michael glared at the leaves on the ground, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under his brother's teasing gaze. But there was nothing to be uncomfortable about, he told himself. Lincoln could joke about it all he wanted. "She's part of the plan, and I needed to get into that room, if that's what you mean. I told you, it's the weakest part of the sec—"

"You're still blushing."

"I'm not."

"Okay, if you say so."

Michael set his jaw and gave Lincoln a defiant stare. "I'd rather you go back to yelling at me about my toes."

Lincoln chuckled. "I knew it. I didn't want to say it until I was sure, but you always look a little bit better after you come back from there."

"Doctors are _supposed _to make you feel better…" Michael pointed out. "I think they'd be out of a job otherwise, Lincoln. Why would they try to make you worse, even in prison? In fact the whole occupation—"

"Nervous chatter. Check."

Michael raised an eyebrow at him, really not in the mood for this conversation. His toes ached, and he didn't need this kind of speculation.

"Diabetes is doing you well, huh?" Lincoln persisted.

"That's another really stupid comment, Lincoln."

"Oh, come on…" Lincoln leaned against the fence casually. "I mean, you don't think I know what you look like when you like somebody? Or better yet, don't want someone to know you like somebody…?"

"Why would I like somebody who sticks needles in my arm?" Michael answered.

"I don't know. Maybe that's some kind of kinky fetish."

"God, Lincoln." Michael glared at him. "Kinky fetish?"

"You're blushing even more now. You do like her, huh?" Lincoln was enjoying the look on Michael's face and tantalizing him. Michael was easy to toy with and he knew the right buttons to push. It was good to have something else to focus on as well, because having Michael concentrate so much on digging in his cell was a tiring hope, and it felt good to be able to tease like when they were younger.

"Lincoln," Michael persisted with his tone of utmost control, "you never grow up."

"No," Lincoln agreed. "And you've never learned to answer a direct question."

"You want me to answer your question? Fine. Okay. I barely know Sarah. How could I—"

"Oh, it's _Sarah_, is it?"

Michael set his jaw. "Why do you have to give me a hard time about this? She's part of the plan."

"You're using her?"

Michael hesitated. It sounded terrible, to be using her. But in a way, he was. That room… It was the key to the escape. They had to get in there, and if he had to fake something to be able to have constant access… But he didn't want to think of it as using. At first he just knew he'd have to get in there, but then once he'd actually met the doctor, it was different. "No."

"Did I hit a nerve?"

"No."

Lincoln watched Michael's face. "Look, buddy, I'm sorry. I—"

"Stop." Michael shook his head, face clearing to reveal the smooth composure he had held onto since he walked through the doors of the prison. Lincoln knew it was a façade and hated that Michael did it in front of him too. There were just rare moments now where Michael's true self appeared from behind the wall.

"Sorry for what?" Michael persisted. "It's just… My foot…" He stretched it out again, and winced at the movement. "I think the painkillers are wearing off."

"Maybe you should go visit the good doctor again, then," Lincoln suggested.

Michael shot him a look. "Linc. If I want insight into how I feel about women, I don't think I'll get it from _you_, of all people."

"Hey…" Lincoln objected. "What's that supposed to mean."

Michael gave him a look and thought about bringing up Lincoln's old lifestyle when they were living together, and all the random women that Lincoln would traipse through their apartment at all hours of the night while he was 'asleep' in the other room. And while Lincoln was still supposedly dating Veronica. But he didn't bring it up. Mostly because it wasn't worth the five seconds of satisfaction in giving an insolent answer if it made Lincoln mad.

"Nothing." Michael shook his head. "It means nothing."

"She's pretty."

"Lincoln."

"What? She's the only woman in this whole God damn place. You think I blame you?"

"Lincoln, I'm not interested. All I'm interested in is you."

"Well, thanks, baby… I'm flattered and all… And you know, after being locked up all this time…"

Michael gave him a look and hit the rake against the fence. "Getting you _out of here_," he persisted. "Dumbass."

Lincoln smirked. "So Sarah is…"

"Drop it."

"Part of the plan," Lincoln sighed. "Okay. One, I'm glad that's all she is, because you don't need any more complications in here. But it was nice to see you into somebody instead of being too smart for you own good, as usual."

"Sorry if I don't want to follow the Burrow family legacy of making illegitimate children."

Lincoln narrowed his eyes. "You're lucky there's a gate between us or I'd get you for that one."

Michael shrugged. "Okay. Well, on that note, I have to make some preparations." He looked away towards the rest of the yard and leaned on his rake. "You'd be surprised how much goes into this."

"Thanks, Mike."

"Thank me outside the walls," Michael replied.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Lincoln was glad he'd had a little bit of time to mentally prepare for their mother's death, because that would have made it that much harder. At least that's what he told himself when she finally did die. It wasn't a huge surprise, it was expected from terminal cancer, but he couldn't help but feel completely heartbroken and disappointed. His only parent left, now gone. Even though he'd seen it coming, he couldn't really prepare himself fully. _

_Aunt Kathy was miserable. She came around on the morning of the wake to drive them over, her eyes red rimmed and lips thin. She put up a pretty good front though, and she must have gotten most of her external grief out before she got to their apartment._

_Also, Lincoln felt she finally treated him like an adult. _

_It was too bad that he no longer felt like being an adult. _

_She was putting away food in the refrigerator, talking about the family members they would see that day, and which ones she hadn't seen in years, and who was still around. Lincoln half listened, feeling a large lump in his throat and not being able to swallow it. Maybe he was still dreaming. _

_"Where's your brother?" Aunt Kathy asked as she sat down at the kitchen table, fixing her cup of coffee and tiredly rubbing her eyes._

_"He was getting dressed," Lincoln answered._

_"Want to check on him? We should leave within the hour."_

_Lincoln nodded, feeling uncomfortable in his suit as he got up and headed for their bedroom. He'd left the jacket off and the tie was loose around his neck. It felt weird, dressing up like this, like they were going somewhere fancy. _

_When he opened the bedroom door, he wasn't completely surprised to find Michael still in bed. A little annoyed that he had to wake him up again, but not surprised._

_"Michael, c'mon," he began. "I woke you up like thirty minutes ago."_

_Michael responded with a groan, pulling the comforter over his head. Lincoln walked over with a sigh, really not up for dealing with an eight year old's stubbornness. Michael had been emotional enough last night, he didn't want to do it over again._

_"Please get up…" Lincoln said, yanking the covers back. "You're always up before me. What is this?"_

_"I don't wanna go," Michael murmured, turning his face into his pillow. _

_Lincoln took a deep breath. "I know this is tough. That's why I need you with me. You were supposed to be my right hand man."_

_"I can't…" _

_"Why?" Lincoln pulled the comforter completely off, pushing it to the floor and revealing Michael's t-shirt and sweatpants. Lincoln's old sweatpants. He recognized the paint stains on the leg. He nudged his brother, poking him. "Get up. I'll help you get dressed."_

_"No…" _

_"Want me to tell Aunt Kathy you won't get up?" Lincoln threatened noncommittally. "She'll be mad you're not dressed yet."_

_"No," Michael whimpered into the pillow._

_"Then get up." Lincoln watched his brother's breathing change, getting deeper, and he knew any second there'd be more tears. He couldn't handle much more of this crying and being the big brother. Why should he be the one to take care of everybody? He was tired. He hadn't slept in what seemed like days, and he was just tired._

_"Michael," he persisted. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "C'mon, buddy. We talked about how this would go last night." He patted his back. "Remember?"_

_Michael didn't say anything. He instead rolled over and latched his arms around Lincoln's waist, burying his face in his lap._

_Exasperated, Lincoln said, "Mike. Aunt Kathy told me to make sure you were dressed. We have to leave soon." Lincoln gently but firmly yanked him up, making him sit beside him. He started to pull off his t-shirt and Michael started to cry, a few tears slipping down his cheeks._

_"Please," Lincoln begged him. "No more."_

_Michael said nothing. He just sniffled miserably. _

_Lincoln gave him a look. "If you cry, I'll cry."_

_Michael looked at him in surprise with shining eyes, lip trembling. "You don't cry."_

_"I will if you don't stop." It was enough to make Michael look slightly less tearful, and Lincoln was able to get his shirt over his head. He looked at his brother's tear stained face. "You've done enough crying. Look at you."_

_"I can't help it."_

_"Well try." Before discarding the t-shirt, Lincoln used it to roughly wipe off his brother's flushed face. "You're gonna see a bunch of random people today, and no one wants to see you crying. Think of something else."_

_"Instead of mom?" Michael asked in surprise. It seemed wrong. _

_"Well, instead of how mom is now."_

_"There is no mom now."_

_"Michael." Lincoln shook his head. "You're too literal. I mean, think of good things about mom. She hates when you cry, so don't let her see you like this."_

_"She can't see me."_

_"Yes, she can."_

_"Can she see me at the funeral and stuff?"_

_"Sure." Lincoln watched his face and then suddenly regretted saying that, because Michael looked a little scared by the idea. _

_"Like a ghost?" he asked._

_Remembering the week straight that Michael had to sleep with Lincoln over a scary movie about ghosts, Lincoln sighed. "No. Not like ghosts. Just from heaven."_

_"Oh." _

_Lincoln got up to get his brother's clothes that they'd laid out the day before. He handed him the shirt and grudgingly Michael put it on, slowly buttoning it. _

_"Aunt Kathy made breakfast," Lincoln told him as he pulled off his sweatpants. "If you want any."_

_"No."_

_"You'll be hungry later." Lincoln tossed the pants to the floor. _

_"I want Mom's food."_

_Lincoln gave Michael his pants. "I don't know what you want me to say to that, Michael." _

_"I'm not hungry anyway." Michael began to pull the pants on and stood up to pull them to his waist. "Hey." He looked up at Lincoln. "Do you think… Do you think Dad will come back today for it?"_

_Lincoln set his jaw. Michael never talked about their father. None of them did. Michael didn't even know what the man looked like, and Lincoln was a little surprised he would ask about it. "No," he answered. "Don't ask that."_

_"Why?"_

_"He didn't come around for you to be born either, that's why."_

_"You said you didn't want me to be born either."_

_"I say that when I'm mad at you," Lincoln retorted, pulling his brother towards him to tuck his shirt down into his pants. "That's all, stupid."_

_"I'm not stupid," Michael answered defensively. "I got a hundred on my spelling test last week."_

_"Oh, wow, spelling. I really hope you get a job in spelling one day. Maybe you can major in spelling. And own a big spelling company."_

_"Lincoln," Michael objected sadly. _

_Lincoln rolled his eyes. He knew his brother was really smart, but he wasn't about to admit it to him. He just knew he was doing much better in anything school related than Lincoln ever had. He was glad to have his brother talking about something else at least._

_"I can spell physics," Michael persisted. "It doesn't start with an 'f'."_

_"P-h," Lincoln answered. "Y-s—"_

_"Lincoln!" Michael punched him in the arm. "I was going to tell you."_

_"I already knew. Beat you to it," Lincoln answered sarcastically as he located a tie on the dresser. He walked back and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You want to try the tie, or want me to do it?"_

_"You can do it," Michael allowed. "If you let me spell 'graph'."_

_"Oh, wow, lucky me. Like either tying your tie or listening to you spell are two things desirable to me," Lincoln muttered. "C'mere then." _

_"G-r-a," Michael began as he walked over. _

_"P-h," Lincoln finished quickly, growing pleased at the look of horror on Michael's face. He reminded himself to be careful; the last thing he needed was Michael throwing a tantrum this morning. _

_"You can't…" Michael whined unhappily, punching his brother again. Lincoln punched him back, not hard, but enough to make Michael rub his arm and frown at him. _

_Lincoln just shook his head and threw the tie around his little brother's neck._

_"Don't make it tight," Michael warned. "Or short. Or long."_

_"You wanna do it?" Lincoln gave him a humorless look. "Huh?"_

_"No…" Michael persisted, patting Lincoln on the knee. _

_"Okay then, stop being a brat. Then let me do it." Lincoln tied it swiftly and pushed it up just to his collar. "Okay?"_

_Michael felt it uncertainly with his hand. "I guess."_

_"Well, it's the best you're gonna get out of me. Find your socks and wash your face. If I come back and you're in bed, I'm gonna let Aunt Kathy get you."_

_Lincoln left his brother's room and returned to the kitchen. He didn't know what else to do so he sat down at the table with his aunt._

_"Is he up?" she asked._

_Lincoln nodded. "Yeah." _

_"Did you explain to him how a wake works, Lincoln?"_

_Lincoln chewed on his thumbnail. There were certain parts of his big brother responsibilities that he really didn't want to deal with. "He knows the basics."_

_"I don't want him getting upset."_

_"It's Michael. He's going to get upset," Lincoln replied. "I guarantee it."_

_"Well, if you think he will, then he will, Lincoln. Tell him he doesn't have to get upset, and he won't."_

_"I don't know about that."_

_"Well, you can at least prepare him for it," she answered simply. She paused to take a sip of her coffee. "He's going to see the body, and that can be scary for a little kid."_

_Lincoln made a face. It would be disturbing and scary for him too. He didn't know how to prepare Michael for it. And he'd stopped him from crying for now, so he didn't really want to bring it up again. "I'll talk to him on the way over."_

_"Okay, fine," she agreed. _

_Lincoln forced himself to get some food as she started to talk again about how the day would go. The pancakes she'd made were slightly cold, but he took some anyway, pouring syrup on top of them._

_When Michael finally came into the kitchen, he looked dressed sans a jacket, and had put shoes on too. But he was wearing a Cubs cap._

_"Michael, take off the hat," their aunt said._

_"Why?" he asked._

_"Because it's inappropriate."_

_"Why?" he persisted, frowning at her._

_"Michael, you don't wear baseball caps or team memorabilia to your own mother's wake, and that's that."_

_"Why not?" _

_"Michael, I already gave you a reason, now take it off," she persisted. _

_Lincoln stood at the counter eating. The pancakes were just alright cold, but he wasn't that hungry anyway. He watched the exchange tiredly, wishing Michael wasn't so stubborn._

_"I don't see why…" the eight year old persisted irritably. "You didn't give a good reason."_

_"Me telling you is plenty of reason," their aunt answered stiffly. "It's inappropriate."_

_"But why is it?" _

_"Michael," Lincoln spoke up, "if you wanna get slapped, then keep talking. If not, take the stupid thing off already and spare us the headache."_

_Michael gave him a look._

_"It's disrespectful," Lincoln told him. _

_"No. Mom likes the Cubs," Michael answered shakily. _

_"Take it off," Lincoln continued. _

_Michael crossly slid the hat off, tossing it onto the counter. "Okay. But Mom does like them."_

_"That's fine," Aunt Kathy said. "But at least you're now presentable." _

_"I was presentable before, too."_

_"Michael, c'mere," Lincoln answered. _

_Michael gave him a wary look, suddenly regretting his persistence, but walked over slowly._

_"Here." Lincoln gave him his plate. "Stop bitching and eat something."_

_Michael took the plate sullenly, not sure why his aunt didn't care that Lincoln cursed but made a big deal about him wanting to wear his Mom's favorite team hat. It didn't make any sense to him. _

_He sat down at the table and pierced the soggy pancakes with his fork._

_He realized it was going to be a long day._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Lincoln warned his brother about the whole "wake experience" when they were in the parking lot of the funeral home. He figured that was the best time, if there had to be a time, because then he wouldn't have much time to think about it. And that way he could at least tell Aunt Kathy that he had done as she asked, and he could be free of fault. _

_"What do you mean?" Michael asked when his brother finished talking, stopping on the steps outside._

_"I mean… I mean exactly what I said." Lincoln shrugged, not knowing what else to say, either to make it better or worse. He'd only been to one funeral before and had found it extremely creepy. He wasn't going to tell Michael that though. _

_Michael opened his mouth as though to reply and then stopped. He wasn't sure what to ask. His mind was still churning with this new information. He felt like a weight had been dropped on top of him._

_"You boys coming in?" Aunt Kathy asked, holding the door open ahead of them._

_"In a minute." Lincoln waved her ahead. "We'll be just a minute." He watched her leave and turned back to Michael. "I figured I'd tell you and all. But, it doesn't change anything. You'll be fine."_

_Michael tugged at his tie, which suddenly felt tight. "So you were right. She can see me."_

_"What?"_

_"Are her eyes gonna be open then?" Michael asked worriedly. "At home… At home you said she could see me."_

_"No, no, no…" Lincoln shook his head. "They'll be closed. You'll see. I just wanted to warn you, because it can be… upsetting, you know? You should at least expect to see the body. And I… Yeah, I just wanted to warn you." He took Michael's hand and started to walk towards the door._

_Michael pulled his hand away. "Did she die with her eyes closed or do they close them?"_

_"She was sleeping. And if not, they close them. What's the difference?"_

_"Is she gonna have riga… Rigamortis?"_

_"You don't have to touch her, Michael. I didn't tell you this because I wanted to get you worried. Now, come on. There's gonna be people in there that want to see us."_

_"I just don't get how it works. Why are we going to go stare at her?" _

_"It's like a final visitation," Lincoln tried to explain. "They put the body to view so friends and family can say good bye. There'll probably be flowers and stuff too. You don't just go and stare."_

_"But I have to go near it?" Michael's voice wavered._

_"It's not an it, Michael."_

_"It is. It's a dead body. I just don't want to see a dead body and I don't know why I have to."_

_"Well, tough then." Lincoln took his hand again, with a tighter grip this time. "Everyone's going to make a huge fuss over you in a minute anyway, you'll be fine."_

_"I don't want them to," Michael objected as he grudgingly let Lincoln pull him into the building, which on first glance looked like a really nice house. But that description changed in his mind as soon as he found out it housed dead bodies. _

_They walked into a big hallway, and he saw a paper sign with his mother's name on it and a room number. That felt weird. Like she was waiting there, except she wouldn't be there. Not really there anyway. He gripped Lincoln's hand tighter and Lincoln squeezed his back. _

_"These are old friends of Mom," Lincoln explained in a whisper at a couple women that walked towards them, dressed darkly and with solemn looks on their faces. "Be nice."_

_"Is this Lincoln and Michael?" the first one that reached them asked. She had bright red hair and Michael stared at it as she bent down to smile at him. "Oh, sweetheart, I haven't seen you since you were just a baby. Look at you… You've gotten so big."_

_Michael winced as she pinched his cheeks but didn't say anything. _

_"How old are you now?" she asked. _

_"Eight," he said._

_"You're getting so big," she repeated. "And you, Lincoln." She straightened up and gave him a sympathetic smile. "You too, looking so much older. You look so mature. I know your mother was so proud of the both of you. Jennifer and I," she pointed the woman next to her, "we flew in from Connecticut today. We're really sorry, this must be so hard on you boys."_

_Lincoln realized at that moment that this was going to be a lot harder than he'd thought. He knew any minute that the actual realization was going to hit him that his mother was dead. Until then he'd felt like he was watching a movie. He didn't admit it to Michael, but he really didn't want to see her body either. He let the women talk to them for a few minutes about the last time they'd been back to Chicago._

_"Thanks for coming," Lincoln said. "I know Mom really would have appreciated it." _

_The women left them alone and Lincoln turned to his little brother, who was leaning hard against him like he wanted to disappear. "Was that so bad?"_

_Michael shrugged and then asked, "Are you supposed to smile and laugh? Those people over there are smiling and laughing."_

_"Well, some people haven't seen each other in a really long time."_

_"So?"_

_"So they get to catch up. Funerals and weddings. That's when a lot of times family is brought together."_

_"We have like no family left," Michael said, thinking about it._

_"That's not true. There's Aunt Kathy. And there's a few others that will be here. You haven't met them. Our family was kind of spread out. Mom had a lot of friends, so a lot of them will be here too."_

_"I guess." _

_"Stand up straight… It's hurting me to have you do that." Lincoln pushed Michael off of him._

_"If people can laugh and smile and catch up," Michael persisted, "I don't see why I wasn't allowed to wear a hat."_

_Lincoln reminded himself not to get exasperated. "Because," he began, "Aunt Kathy didn't want you to, because it's not 'proper', and you're wearing a suit. And it's like being in a church. Do you wear a baseball cap in church?"_

_"I don't know. We never go."_

_"The answer is no. No, you don't." Lincoln sighed. "We should head into the room."_

_"The body room? How many dead bodies will be in there?" _

_"It's not a body room. And just one. They set up a room for the family." _

_"But she can't see me, right?"_

_"No, Michael…"_

_"And her eyes will be closed."_

_"Yes, Michael."_

_"Okay. _

_Michael responded like it would then be no big deal, but Lincoln didn't really buy it. "Just remember," he told him, "Mom was really sick, you know? We knew that this was coming."_

_"I know," Michael agreed, growing tired, and not wanting to have Lincoln delve into this same conversation again about why it was Mom had died. He was getting sick of it and wasn't sure whether Lincoln did it for Michael or to make himself feel better. "We can go in now, Lincoln. I'm not stupid."_

_"That's debatable," Lincoln muttered as he started past the foyer and towards the other room with Michael following closely behind him. He took a deep breath, mentally prepared himself, hoping that he wouldn't be weirded out, and hoping Michael wouldn't get upset. Today was just something they had to get through and that was the way he was going to think about it. _

_He was almost glad he had Michael to take care of for once, because that was at least something to keep his mind occupied._

_The room wasn't big, and it was filled with folding chairs, in neat rows all facing the front of the room, where there was the open coffin. Lincoln tried to look at who was in the room; there were about ten people and he recognized a handful of them._

_"You're supposed to go up," Lincoln told Michael softly, "and like kneel up there, and people pray, or reflect, or whatever… And then we would just sit in the front… We should have been here earlier, probably… I mean the direct family usually—"_

_"I don't feel well."_

_"I know, Mikey. You'll be fine. Let's just go up there now, okay?"_

_Michael realized that Lincoln wasn't really asking him, but telling him, so he didn't argue. But the last thing he wanted to do was go anywhere closer to the front of the room. He had a slightly morbid curiosity, but at the same time, the view that he had from the doorway of the coffin seemed to be enough. _

_When they reached the front of the room, Michael couldn't tear his eyes away from the body of their mother. It was unnerving. There she was, right there, looking like she was just peacefully sleeping. She looked so… healthy. In fact, her skin had a healthier glow, with rosier cheeks, compared to what she had actually looked like in the past few months. The shock of the details of it kept him focused on that rather than thinking about his mother being dead._

_"You okay?" Lincoln put his hand on Michael's shoulder._

_"She looks different," Michael said._

_"I know," Lincoln agreed. _

_"No. She looks better."_

_"Well, she's not sick anymore."_

_Michael thought that was a stupid response. Of course she wasn't sick anymore. She was dead. And when you were dead you were nothing. Nothing but gone. His mother was gone. He stared at her. But she was right here…_

_There were kneelers set up in front of the coffin. Lincoln moved to kneel down, resting his hands on the edge of the coffin, and Michael watched him. He wasn't sure what you were supposed to do. What were you supposed to think about? He wanted to ask Lincoln but he felt uncomfortable saying anything just then, so he just knelt down beside Lincoln and stared at his mother's face. _

_She still looked so alive. It was like any moment she was going to wake up. He reached over and poked her arm._

_"Michael," Lincoln objected._

_"She's not warm. She looks warm though," Michael whispered back. Lincoln didn't respond. He had a solemn look on his face, and Michael watched him for a minute. He'd rather look at his brother than the dead body. Lincoln looked strange, and Michael started to wonder what was going to happen to them._

_After a while, looking at Lincoln made him kind of scared so he turned his head to look at his mother again. He really hoped she wouldn't open her eyes. _

_It was just a couple weeks ago that anyone had even mentioned to him that she probably wouldn't pull through from the cancer. By probably, he realized they meant definitely not, but were adding a little bit of optimism there for his sake. _

_He and Lincoln had never talked about what would happen next. The only thing Lincoln had told him was how the funeral would work, rattling off the stuff they had to do like he was simply repeating it from a poorly constructed list._

_When Lincoln pushed himself up from the kneeler, Michael followed him and then suddenly felt bad because he hadn't at all thought anything to his mother, and hadn't really said good bye to her or anything. His thoughts were instead all over the place. Lincoln said people prayed and reflected. He hadn't really done either._

_A man walked towards them and started to talk to Lincoln. Michael didn't know who he was and so he stood there, just a few feet from the coffin, staring at it. Then he noticed a little poster board someone had created that had a bunch of pictures on it that was just to the right of the coffin with some flowers. He stared it. _

_A moment later, Lincoln was elbowing him. "I kept saying your name, Michael. Don't ignore me. I was going to introduce you to Mr. Shelby."_

_"Oh." Michael hadn't heard him at all. He stared at the pictures. There was one of Mom holding a baby that definitely wasn't him. "Is that you?"_

_"Yeah. The good old days. Before you."_

_"Your head was really big then too."_

_Lincoln just shook his head and looked at the rest of the pictures, all of his Mom smiling here or there, some with them. He was pretty happy with how Michael was handling everything. It was hard to predict sometimes what would affect him or how it would affect him. He was surprising nonchalant in some situations and surprisingly hysterical in others. _

_"Lincoln…" Michael started._

_"What?" He was staring at the picture of his mother at the beach with them. It was from a long while ago. Michael was still in diapers in the picture. His mother looked so young. It hadn't been that many years ago that she should look that young. He realized how much the past year had changed her. Aged her. He felt aged too. _

_"Remember this?" Lincoln pointed at the picture._

_"No. And I asked you a question."_

_Lincoln kept his finger on the picture thoughtfully. "You wanted so bad to go in the water. And do you know what happens when a baby goes in the water with a diaper? It absorbs so much water. I think it weighed more than you did. But watching you walk around after being in the water... It was the funniest thing…."_

_"I don't think that's funny."_

_"Mom and I did. You could barely stand up."_

_Michael rolled his eyes. "Answer my question."_

_Lincoln sighed. "We should go back to the Lake. We haven't been in a while."_

_"You're not listening to me." Michael tugged at Lincoln's arm._

_Lincoln gave him a look. "Welcome to my world. What was your question?"_

_"What happens to us now?"_

_"What do you mean? We can sit over there." He pointed at the chairs. "Want to sit?"_

_"No, not what happens this second now. What happens now that we don't have parents? Do we live alone?"_

_Lincoln hesitated. Aunt Kathy had tried to talk to him about that before but there was too much going on to actually have a decent conversation. She brought up a few options about them moving in with her or some other family member, or staying where they were with some of their supervision. _

_"Mom has some money in the bank," Lincoln explained. "And I'll get a job. And we have Aunt Kathy to help us some. Let's not talk about it now, okay?"_

_"That's not a real answer."_

_"I don't have a real answer," Lincoln retorted. _

_Michael nodded and continued to stare at the pictures. He couldn't help but continue to think about it. When Lincoln didn't have an answer to something, that meant something bad._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

PI inmates were painting again, this time part of the large laundry room. Michael had a lot on his mind. Between Lincoln, and worrying about Sucre's involvement, and Veronica's visits where she looked at him with pity and a kind of sympathetic disappointment, his mind was busy. The smell of the paint in the room was giving him a headache, and between that and the dull ache of his foot, he almost felt sick.

"You think it will work?" Lincoln asked him, eyeing the fuse box that Michael had placed the counterfeit cell phone into.

Michael shrugged. "It's a simple plan. Make him think there's a phone, you tip off Bellick about him having one, and see what happens. If he tells them about it, then I have a pretty good idea about trusting him, and if he doesn't… Well, then there's a chance he'll be all about digging."

"What if someone looks in there before all this?"

"It's soap, Linc. It doesn't matter. And they won't. You should've seen the dust in there. No one will touch it."

Lincoln shrugged, eyeing the green paint on the arm of his coveralls tiredly. "True."

"Just do your part, and it's fine," Michael replied.

"You saw Veronica today?"

Michael nodded, eyeing him carefully. "Yeah."

"You tell her about your foot?"

He shook his head. "She doesn't need to know about that. She has enough to worry about. I mean, she's been working on your case, and she's dropped everything to work on it."

Lincoln sighed. "I don't know… I don't know what there is out there to find… The two of you are completely changing your lives…"

"She has a few leads," Michael answered. "Granted the leads are similar to the ones I followed. But..." He shrugged. "If it's there, Veronica will find it."

"I'm amazed she's still looking at my case."

Michael shrugged. "Yeah… She really does care about you, Linc. I mean, this is her complete focus now. We all believe you, that's not a question." He shifted his weight gingerly, his foot feeling swollen and achy in his boot.

"How are the toes?"

"The intact ones are just fine," Michael answered. "As for the missing pair… Well, they're not there."

Lincoln made a sympathetic face.

"Maybe they'll grow back," Michael persisted.

"Yeah, maybe." Lincoln rolled his eyes and watched his brother paint, thinking that the green color the prison chose was pretty ugly.

"When I was little and we saw that dog that was missing a leg?" Michael persisted. "Remember I was upset about it, and you told me it would grow back for him."

"Yeah…" Lincoln sighed.

"I believed you."

"You were pretty gullible."

Michael shrugged. "Maybe. It made me feel better though."

Lincoln smirked. "Yeah." He paused. "I'm going to see LJ."

"Really?" Michael looked up. "He's coming to visit? What made him decide that?"

"Well, he didn't really decide…" Lincoln admitted.

Michael frowned.

"He, uh… Apparently he was caught in possession with intent to sell," Lincoln started, watching Michael's face. He looked like he was going to laugh and Lincoln grew irritated. "Why would that be funny, Michael?"

"Because," Michael explained, becoming more somber at Lincoln's harsh tone. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Lincoln shook his head, giving Michael a stern look. "Don't give me that bullshit, Michael. He's just being stupid. Everyone's stupid sometimes. But we both know LJ has a good head on his shoulders. He's smart, like you. "

"Nice comparison. I'm in prison, Linc."

Lincoln clenched his fists. "Michael," he warned.

"Okay, okay…" Michael began apologetically, staring at his can of paint as he sensed his brother's growing irritation. He should have realized that LJ would be a sore spot. "I'm sorry."

Lincoln continued explaining. "So it's a program, I think set up by the DOC or juvenile court, and they set him up with me, so that I could see him."

"For your words of wisdom…" Michael raised his eyebrows. "Interesting."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You were never one with words…" Michael retorted. "I'm just saying. It seems like it's going to be awkward. Especially if you get angry at him, and he's already angry at you."

"I'm not angry at him. I can't be. Most of this is my fault. I'm disappointed, sure. But you really think I want to use our time together for a lecture?" Lincoln shook his head. "I don't really know what I want to say to him. I feel like I'm not even a part of his life."

Michael shifted uncomfortably. "Well…" He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Just say it," Lincoln sighed. "Whatever's on your mind. I'm not gonna get angry at you either."

"It's just…" Michael began. "You kinda chose that… I mean, you haven't really been around for a while. And I don't mean the three most recent years in prison. I mean, in general, old Lincoln kinda fell off the face of the earth. I'm not saying you weren't there for him. You were. But just recent years…"

"I know. I mean, you expect me to disagree? I can't. So I fucked up two kids. Great. What can I do now?"

"I'm not fucked up," Michael objected. "Neither is LJ."

"He's not going to want to talk to me."

Michael shrugged. "True."

"I'm glad he has Lisa. I mean, that new man she's with is a piece of shit, I personally think, but at least LJ has a house to go home to, parents, a semblance of a family…"

"And drugs to sell."

Lincoln grabbed Michael's arm, yanking him towards him. "Listen. For once I want to talk to you without your sarcastic bullshit, okay? You want me to feel bad about everything I've done. Fine. I feel bad. But when it comes to LJ you don't have to rub it in my face, Michael."

Michael winced at the grip on his arm and finally Lincoln let go, pushing his arm away with a slap. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad," he replied gently. "Lincoln…"

Lincoln felt bad for almost snapping, realizing that Michael's sarcasm had forever been his security blanket. And that his smart mouth, as much trouble as it got him into, was simply his way of dealing with these kinds of situations. These conversations. But it still infuriated him. That hadn't changed at all. Especially when it was about LJ.

"I'll stop," Michael persisted ruefully.

"Forget it." Lincoln shook his head. "I'm used to it. It's just… I'm on edge. You know what they gave me this morning? A form to fill out. Who I want to view the execution."

Michael was silent.

"I haven't even filled it out yet," Lincoln continued. "I mean, what do they expect me to write? I can even _fathom_… How do you ask… How am I supposed to ask LJ. Hey, LJ, sorry I haven't been there, but want to see me die?"

Michael fidgeted. "Well, would you want him to be there?"

"I don't know."

"Would you want me to be there?"

Lincoln sighed. "I don't know. I don't want either of you to have to… I mean… I wouldn't want to be there if I didn't have to be."

"Well, it's not going to happen anyway," Michael persisted. "So the names you put down aren't that important."

"Michael, it's the theory of it, you know?"

"I know… But I'm just saying."

Lincoln sighed. "God. I don't know what I'm going to say to LJ. God knows what he thinks. God knows what Lisa's put through his head. It was so much easier when he was little. You were so much easier when you were little too."

"You said I was impossible."

Lincoln smirked and shrugged. "Sometimes. Not as impossible as later though."

"LJ loves you. Just remember that. I mean, sure he's mad at you, but we've all been mad at each other."

"I know. It's just different when you can count the times left you'll have with your son, you know? I mean, knowing the exact day it will end."

Michael made a face and answered, "I don't know. It's not gonna happen anyway…"

"If we can trust the lying thief, Sucre…" Lincoln muttered.

"I do trust him. And this will prove it. He's a good guy."

"Good guys don't rob convenience stores."

"You were arrested for theft before."

Lincoln was aggravated that he couldn't refute it. "I'm not a good guy. I'm on Death Row so evidence claims it. And besides, Michael, we'll find out soon enough if we can trust him for this and that'll be all that matters."

"You both did it for somebody else. Not yourself." Michael watched his brother's nervous look, his creased forehead and thin lips. He couldn't imagine what the stress was like on his brother. He felt extremely stressed himself, but for Lincoln it was different. He realized his brother's whole life had been stress.

"Don't compare me to Sucre," Lincoln said thickly.

Michael shrugged.

Lincoln studied his brother. "You know, you trust too many people, Michael. This isn't going to work if you're trusting everybody. You get too many involved and the plan just _won't _work, Michael. You understand?"

"It's my plan," Michael answered. "These are the angles that I worked out. You'll see these people are necessary." Catching Lincoln's dubious look, he persisted, "You think I can possibly dig in my cell without the person I live with being on the team."

"I know, Michael, I know… It's just that… Sucre. And Abruzzi. And C-Note. And those are just the one's I know about. Are there more?"

"Lincoln, I told you, there's angles that I needed to—"

"So there are."

"I researched _everything_," Michael told him. "Trust me."

"I've always trusted you," Lincoln admitted. "And I trust you now. And I know somewhere in your demented head there's the whole plan and it makes sense. It just seems like such a pipe dream."

"Pipe dream is a very fitting description," Michael told him with a small smirk.

Lincoln just shook his head. "I'll never understand the way your mind works."

"What do you want to know?" Michael challenged. "I can tell you anything about all of them. I can tell you even when they were born. Where they were born. What they _want._" He paused. "And they all will want the same thing. For me to get them out of here."

"Okay, Michael."

"And it helps having their friendship…" Michael persisted. "Because they help keep the other attention I don't want away. It's symbiotic."

"What kind of attention don't you want? Is this what you were worried about that other time? Who's bothering you?"

Michael shrugged. "No one."

"Michael. Who's bothering you?"

Michael gave him a look. "No one."

"That's what you used to tell me, coming home from school with a bloody nose and no backpack."

Michael rolled his eyes. "I'm not a kid anymore, Lincoln. Get over it."

"I got them then, remember?"

"Yes…" Michael sighed. "There's no one to 'get' now though. I'm a lot more capable of taking care of myself now than when I was twelve. And I have people on my side here now, that it's not a big deal."

"You had all your toes when I took care of you."

"Yeah, you rarely left permanent damage," Michael returned irritably. "Just drop it."

"Fine. You can't blame me for being concerned."

The guard called for the prisoner's to wrap up what they were doing and return all the paint to the supply room.

"There's nothing to be concerned about," Michael persisted.

As he walked out of the room, he gave a quick glance at the fuse box, visualizing the phone within it and feeling hopeful.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	5. Chapter 5

**_Italics mean flashback.  
_Normal font is current series time.  
**

**_Reviews mean a lot to me. Thanks to those who have been leaving me such kind and constructive messages. _  
**

**Chapter 5**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_The morning after Lincoln's return from fifteen days in jail and Michael's regrettable party night, Michael woke up to the sound of his alarm at six-thirty. He hit the snooze button with a groan as he saw the time. It was set for school. It was after all a school day. But he'd already made up his mind he wasn't going to go to school. He needed a break, and he wanted to stay home with Lincoln._

_Normally he would have to make sure Lincoln was up, so that he could get ready for work. Lincoln was terrible in the mornings, and had often had a long night himself with his various late night 'activities', and waking him up could be challenging. But this morning, Michael was confused for a few reasons._

_The first was that the other bed in the room was empty, and untouched. He cleared that up in his head by remembering that Veronica had spent the night. He assumed they were both out on the couch dead to the world. _

_The second problem was deciding whether or not Lincoln had a job to get up for. The last time he'd missed work due to something criminal or missing a certain amount of days, he'd been fired. Not that he'd had that great of a job anyway, but now it just meant he'd have to find another one. _

_Michael thought about the night before and felt terrible. His stomach and head felt surprisingly fine, which was often the benefit of puking your guts out before going to sleep. It was his conscience that felt awful as he remembered the events of the previous night, both at the party and in coming home._

_He pushed himself out of bed tiredly, deciding he should find out whether Lincoln had a job. As tired as he was, he knew he wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep anyway. And if Lincoln did still have to go in today, he ought to be up._

_Barefoot in sweatpants and a t-shirt, he left the bedroom. Sure enough he found Lincoln and Veronica tangled up in each other on the couch. He never understood how it was comfortable, but he often found them like that. He noticed the empty wine glasses on the coffee table._

_He walked over and stood close to the couch, hesitating. He hated waking people up, but he had to do it nearly every day._

_"Lincoln," he said, soft but loud. He reached over and shook his shoulder. "Lincoln." He shook him again._

_Lincoln's eyes opened slowly and narrowed. "What." His voice was husky. _

_"It's six-thirty."_

_"So get dressed for school," came a mumbled reply._

_Michael shook his head. "I'm not going to school. Do you have work?"_

_"No," Lincoln replied, rubbing his face in exhaustion. "No to both." He stretched out slightly, trying not to wake Veronica, but she was already stirring. _

_"Does she have work?"_

_"I dunno…" Lincoln muttered. _

_"You should probably find out."_

_"Michael, get out of my face. I'm exhausted."_

_Michael was accustomed to Lincoln being miserable in the morning since he was anything but a creature of the morning, especially after just a few hours of sleep after drinking. He was unphased by Lincoln's irritation._

_"I was gonna make breakfast."_

_"Then go make yourself breakfast. Good boy," Lincoln mumbled, closing his eyes._

_"No, for all of us," Michael persisted. _

_Lincoln just waved him away. _

_Michael headed to the kitchen and just before he was leaving the room, noticed the dark stain on the carpet which was undoubtedly because of him from last night. A jolt of regret ran through him again as he continued to the kitchen._

_Eggs, milk, cheese, bread. It was really all that they had in the refrigerator. He tried to go food shopping a couple times while Lincoln was away, but he didn't have much money and really didn't have much time with school to get to the store. He wouldn't want to admit it to Lincoln, both because he'd be mad and would feel bad, but he'd been living off scrambled eggs for the majority of the past week._

_But he was pretty good at making scrambled eggs, which is what he was intending to make this morning. _

_He'd just gotten the eggs, milk, and cheese out when Lincoln dragged himself into the kitchen and sat down at the table, looking worn out and gloomy._

_"I didn't know if you had work," Michael explained as he searched for a large bowl. "That's why I woke you up."_

_"Yeah," Lincoln replied, resting his elbows on the table. _

_Michael slowly brought over the supplies to the table so he could sit across from his brother. As he sat down, he said slowly. "Lincoln… I'm sorry… About last night. And the carpet and everything… You know I'm sorry."_

_Lincoln rested his head in his hands. "I have the biggest headache."_

_"Sorry."_

_"You didn't give me a headache. Two bottles of wine gave me a headache."_

_"Okay." _

_"Although you…" Lincoln looked up at him to shake his head. "You are another story."_

_"I was stupid."_

_Lincoln nodded. "No shit. You were."_

_Michael cracked an egg into the bowl, feeling sick from guilt. He doubted Lincoln ever felt like this the day after he partied, he did it so often, and he told himself to get over it. "When did you get back?"_

_"Sometime in the afternoon."_

_"I wasn't expecting that. I guess I should have."_

_"There's a reason I tell you not to drink like that. You feel like shit?"_

_"No," Michael admitted._

_"Lucky you. Sometimes it hits you later."_

_Michael shrugged, cracking another egg. "I like to put lots of cheese in this. V likes cheese, right?"_

_"God, I can't even think about food right now…"_

_Michael shrugged._

_Lincoln watched his brother methodically cracking eggs. "Look, Mike, I don't like you doing what you did last night," he started. "First, I'd rather you not do it at all. Second, on a school night is a hundred times worse. And you're going to school today."_

_"No, I'm not." _

_"Michael."_

_"There's nothing going on. I won't miss anything. And it's Friday."_

_"Don't fight me on this. You're going."_

_"No. I go every day."_

_"Michael, I just told you. Don't fight me. I have a headache."_

_"I know, but I want to stay home and—"_

_"Want, Michael. Want, want, want. Gimme a break."_

_"I haven't missed school in forever. I can't even remember when. I haven't been sick or anything. And when I was sick it was midterms so I went anyway…"_

_"It's your job to go to school. That's all I ask you to do, Michael. It's really not hard."_

_"I wanted to hang out with you…"_

_"I'm with Veronica all day."_

_"All day? Don't you want to hang out with me?"_

_"I want you to go to school," Lincoln answered. "Then I want you to come here after school and clean my fucking rug inside. That's what I want you to do."_

_Michael made a face. "Lincoln."_

_"What? Did you see it?"_

_"I know. I said I was sorry. What do you want me to say?" Michael poured some milk into the bowl, realizing regret was one of the worst feelings in the world. "We need to go food shopping." _

_"Okay. I'll go today."_

_"I want to go with you."_

_"Well, you'll be at school."_

_"Lincoln, please…" Michael persisted. "I—"_

_"Listen, it's a busy day. Not only do I feel like shit, but I need to spend some time with Veronica because she's going back to school soon, I need to go through job ads, I need to get in touch with Lisa about missing Sunday, I need to go food shopping."_

_"I can do some of that too," Michael said._

_"What's going on at school that you don't want to go?" Lincoln answered. "Is somebody giving you a hard time?"_

_"No."_

_"Who from school did you go out with last night?"_

_"I dunno." Michael shrugged as he mixed the milk and eggs. "I'm staying home, Lincoln… You can't tell me not to."_

_"Oh, can't I?" Lincoln raised his head to give Michael a look. "You wanna test me? Today is a great day to test me."_

_"It's one day…" Michael shook his head. He took the bowl and slid back his chair, standing up. "Fine. You know what? I'll 'go'."_

_"What's that supposed to mean?" Lincoln asked, leaning forward with an intent look. "What's saying it like that mean?"_

_"I have no idea, Lincoln." Michael walked towards the stove, grabbing the frying pan._

_"Oh, no?" Lincoln retorted. "You think I'm stupid? Think you can just leave here and pretend? Well, I can call the school, find out if you're there. And if you're not, I tell you what, then you'll get the beating of your life. How's that sound?"_

_Michael irritably turned on the oven range. "Fine, Mr. Drop Out."_

_"Go ahead. Goad me all you want. You think pissing me off is the way to get what you want, then go ahead."_

_"If I miss one day, it doesn't mean I'm gonna drop out. If that's what you're afraid of." Michael poured the eggs into the frying pan. "I'm not trying to argue with you."_

_"Then stop trying to convince me you should skip school. It's a dead topic now."_

_"It should be my own decision." Michael paused. "You know what the lowest grade I've gotten this quarter is? A 92. And the average for that exam was a 70."_

_"That's why I'm proud of you. And that's why you stay in school."_

_"You barely ever got higher than a 70."_

_"We're different people. You think I'm proud of not finishing?"_

_"Forget it." Michael searched for a spatula. "Forget it, Lincoln. I can never talk to you. You just get mad."_

_"What are we talking about? You not wanting to go to school? So stupid." Lincoln rubbed at his temples. "Thanks for increasing the headache, Michael. That's what I love at a quarter to seven in the morning."_

_Michael adjusted the heat on the stove. "Well, I should've never woken you anyway. Two weeks I've had peace without you."_

_"Good, Michael. I'm glad that for two weeks you've been able to go out drinking and getting high and enjoying the space in your apartment."_

_"The one time I do anything like you," Michael objected, "and you come back that night. How is that my fault?"_

_"I don't want you smoking either."_

_"I don't like smoking."_

_"Easy, then don't do it."_

_"I'd like you not to do it, too…" Michael added. "But God forbid I ever say that to you, Lincoln…" _

_"It must be nice to sit there and judge me, Michael."_

_"Must be nice to not have to go to work today."_

_Lincoln leaned back in his chair stiffly and watched Michael at the stove. He was frustrated. He didn't know how to handle his brother sometimes. He was angry with him, about both last night and this morning, but he was also angry at himself. As much as Michael's attitude currently annoyed him, it was enough his own fault for not being there for the past two weeks. This was Michael's way of telling Lincoln he was fed up. He wasn't sure what to do about it._

_Michael glanced at Lincoln, a little wary of his silence. Before he could say anything, Veronica wandered into the kitchen, walking over to give Lincoln a kiss on his cheek. _

_"Michael's making us breakfast," Lincoln told her._

_"That's sweet of you," Victoria said as she sat down beside Lincoln at the table. "How are you feeling today, Mike?"_

_"I'm fine," Michael answered from the stove, voice a little stiff._

_"He's mad at me," Lincoln explained to Veronica under his breath._

_"Why?" _

_He shrugged as he got up out of his chair and walked over to the fridge to grab some juice. Opening the refrigerator, he was surprised at how empty it was. There was a bottle of ketchup, some cheese, a can of soda, a few beers, and some leftover Chinese food cartons. No juice. His frustration shifted._

_"Michael," he started._

_"What?" Michael answered._

_"What the hell have you been eating?"_

_Michael shrugged. "Food."_

_"What food?" Lincoln opened the freezer door. It was nearly empty as well. "Michael. For God's sake. No shit we need to go grocery shopping." _

_"Michael, whenever I called I asked if you needed food," Veronica objected._

_"I had food," Michael responded. "You both need to stop. I can take care of myself." He pushed the eggs around in the frying pan. _

_Lincoln walked over and leaned against the counter beside Michael, watching him cook. "Kiddo, seriously. What have you been eating?"_

_"I really like scrambled eggs," Michael said. "We're out of eggs now though." He indicated the eggs in the frying pan with his spatula. "This was it."_

_Lincoln shook his head. "I'll never understand you."_

_"I like eggs though. And they're good for you."_

_"I don't know whether to be angry or feel bad for you. How can you eat scrambled eggs for two weeks?"_

_"I didn't eat it two weeks straight. We had some other stuff. Can you get plates?" _

_Lincoln sighed at his brother and reached up to the cabinets, taking out three plates. "And you claim you can take care of yourself. I'm baffled. I don't get it at all."_

_"I don't see the problem with eating scrambled eggs…" Michael gripped the spatula. "I like it. And I'm really good at making it."_

_"I'd hope you got good at it, making it every single day." Lincoln set the plates on the table. _

_"When we were little we'd have scrambled eggs for dinner sometimes, remember?" Michael persisted. "I really like it."_

_"I like it too. Just not every single day. And usually it's because it's easy, not because it's the only choice."_

_"I like it," Michael persisted._

_Veronica was collecting the egg shells off the kitchen table. "Didn't he keep the house clean, Linc?" she started in an attempt to lower the tension. "I think it's cleaner than when you were here."_

_"Other than the rug, yeah," Lincoln agreed._

_Veronica rolled her eyes at him as she threw out the shells in the garbage. "Lincoln… Stop. You're miserable in the morning…" She sighed. "I'll make coffee."_

_"He's always miserable," Michael muttered._

_"I'm always miserable," Lincoln told Veronica with an exasperated look. Then he turned back to Michael and said, "How about you just let me know when you're over being mad at me, or whatever this is about, and we can move on. I have to piss." _

_Michael watched him leave the kitchen and then glanced over at Veronica, who was setting up the coffee maker. "He's mad about the carpet."_

_"No, you're both just being ridiculous."_

_"I'm not doing anything."_

_"You know when he's in a bad mood, Michael. Don't bait him."_

_"How is it my fault that he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed every single morning?"_

_Veronica sighed, walking over to fill up the coffee pot with water. "It's not your fault. It's not his fault either. You both just need to get that."_

_"I hate when he loses his job…" Michael muttered. "Now's he's going to be a dick to me about it. It's not me that made him get locked up."_

_"Listen to me, Mike…," she answered, pouring water in the machine. "He loves you very much. You're his whole world, and he's not mad at you. He's mad at himself for all this. He wants to make it better for you, you know that, so try to give him a break."_

_Michael shrugged. "Everything's fine." He turned off the stove. "And I happen to like eggs."_

_"That's more of that he wasn't here, that's all. And last night… He worries. That's all. He gets worried if you get messed up, because he doesn't want anything to happen." She replaced the coffee pot and turned on the machine. _

_"Why are you still with him?" Michael asked, glancing towards the doorway in case Lincoln would return._

_She crossed her arms over her chest. "I love him, Michael. I do. And I get frustrated, but I keep thinking he'll get his act together… I mean, sometimes I think that it's over, like when he went with Lisa, or he gets locked up like this… But then I think about how hard he actually works, and how hard he tries to take care of you, and how good he actually has been to me… And… I don't know." _

_"Aren't there better people at school?"_

_She looked disappointed. "Michael… Don't put down your brother. He works really hard."_

_"Not today. Today he doesn't have a job…" He kept his eyes on the doorway. _

_"Do you know what he's sacrificed for you?"_

_"I never asked him to," Michael shot back. He got an irritated look on his face. "I'm not putting him down. I just… He never talks to me. Not without getting mad. And he never wants me around."_

_"You're upset at him for what just happened, I understand," she answered. "But that's not…" She trailed off as Lincoln came back into the kitchen, and she gave Michael a pacifying look._

_"Awkward silence," Lincoln said as he looked at the both of them. "What'd I interrupt?"_

_"Food's ready, Linc," Michael replied slowly as he lifted the frying pan off the stove. _

_"Thanks, Mike." Lincoln walked over to Veronica and kissed her on the forehead. He eyed her carefully. "What's going on now?" he whispered, putting a hand on her waist._

_"Nothing." She reached up to stroke his cheek. "Go sit down."_

_Lincoln watched Michael set the frying pan on the table, wondering whether or not their argument was over and the tension was gone or whether it would continue throughout the day. It was always hard to tell. He met his eye briefly, and Michael looked away apprehensively. _

_He couldn't deal with this all day._

_"Michael," he started. "C'mere."_

_Michael gave him a wary look. "We need forks." He glanced over as Veronica went to get them from the drawer._

_"That's okay. Come here…" Lincoln gave him a persistent look. When his brother walked over slowly, Lincoln reached out to grab him by the shirt and pull him over. "Don't look scared like that. Look at me." When he met Michael's blue eyes, he persisted, "Are we done?"_

_"Yeah." Michael nodded._

_"You sure?"_

_Michael nodded again._

_"Okay." Lincoln patted Michael on the chest. "Good. Let's eat."_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Sucre lost his conjugals over the cell phone test and threatened Michael not to dig in his cell, Lincoln felt several things. First, he wanted to grab Sucre and get him away from Michael and tell him that no one cared about his miserable relationship with Maricruz. He wanted to be as harsh as possible.

Then he wanted to go back to Michael and tell him that he'd _told him_. He knew none of this would work, and that it was too many people to trust. He just knew Michael's heart was too big, thinking he could include people that would realize how dangerous the plan was and go against him. He knew it.

And next he just felt extremely disappointed. Because he had just as much vested in this.

"That went well," Lincoln said simply when Sucre stalked away.

Michael was quiet for a moment, his back to his brother. Then he spun around. "Shut up, Lincoln."

And Lincoln realized Michael had just as many things going through his head. His eyes were flashing, angry. It was hard to make Michael angry. It was easier to get him just upset.

"Well, it didn't." He pulled out half of the broken counterfeit phone, made of soap, from his pocket. "Want this?"

"What would I want it for…" Michael muttered.

"I don't know, thought maybe it was another part of your intricate plan and needed to be reused. Like MacGyver. Maybe it'll make a bomb or something." Lincoln stuffed the soap back into his pocket. "Rather that than you leave it lying around for the bulls to find."

"A soap bomb. That'd be real handy, Linc. Thanks for the idea." Michael's voice was bitter, strained.

"So, what now?"

Michael clenched his fists. "He'll come around."

"You gonna dig?"

"I _can't _yet," Michael persisted. "You heard him."

"I did," Lincoln agreed.

"He'll come around," Michael said again. "He has to. He's just… He's just pissed about the conjugals. You know? I mean, I didn't know that would happen."

Lincoln nodded. He was as hopeful as Michael at this point, and he didn't feel like playing the antagonist, as much as in the back of his mind he realized he probably should. He knew that if he fought it, if he frustrated Michael, his brother only got more adamant, and more determined. Challenging Michael was a way for Michael to stop beating himself up.

But right now, he felt like Michael was frustrated enough.

"I mean, I can try when he's not paying attention, or… Or when he's sleeping," Michael began. "Because I can't fall behind schedule. And I won't."

Lincoln nodded again.

Michael suddenly sighed, rubbing at his forehead anxiously. "I'm sorry, Linc."

"Don't apologize to me. You didn't do anything. And he didn't tell anybody," Lincoln persisted. "You were right about that. You can trust him."

Michael shrugged. "His trust is worth nothing if I can't dig."

"It is though."

"Not nearly enough."

"Michael, you said it. He'll come around…"

Michael sulked for a moment, thinking about his cell, and Sucre, and the time frame that he was working under. Then he thought about Lincoln. "You're alone in your cell?"

Lincoln ran a hand over his short hair and moved over to the paint again when he noticed a guard's suspicious glance over at them. "Yeah. Michael, pick up a brush or something. They'll separate us."

Michael obeyed, moving over to pick up one from the bin near him. "What's that like?"

"Being alone in my cell? What do you mean?"

"I mean, what's it like?"

"It's…" Lincoln studied Michael. "I think it's self-explanatory, Michael."

"What's it like?"

"Well, you have a lot of time to think…" Lincoln answered. "A lot of time to reflect. There's a few times you talk to the guards or something, it's rare, but sometimes you do."

"What do you think about?"

Lincoln sighed. "I don't know. What don't I think about?"

"Like what?"

Lincoln wanted to tell him to just stop asking these meaningless questions, but he realized they weren't meaningless to Michael, for whatever reason. And Michael took some sense of comfort from the answers. "I think about you. I think about Veronica and LJ…" Lincoln sighed. "I think about why I'm in here."

"Me."

"I said you. I do think about you, pal."

"No. I mean, I'm why you're in here. Do you think about that?"

Lincoln sighed and rolled his eyes. "Alright, Michael, you know that's ridiculous. Let's not go into that."

"But you wouldn't be," Michael persisted. "If you hadn't had to take care of me and you hadn't had to—"

"Michael…" Lincoln gave him a warning look. "There would have been something."

"You don't know that. If I—"

"Stop," Lincoln snapped. "We've been through this. And if you're going to go there, then it's your fault, it's Mom's fault, it's Dad's fault—"

"That's all true, too."

"I'm my own person, Michael. I've told you a million times." Lincoln shook his head. "Don't go down this pity trip, this miserable hypothetical road. I'm sick of it and we're beyond it. And it won't change anything."

"Fine." Michael shrugged casually. "Forget it."

"Don't just tell me 'fine'," Lincoln said edgily. "You look at me, and you tell me you're over it."

Michael looked up at him. "I can't."

"Dammit, Michael."

Michael ignored him. "What else do you think about? When you're alone?"

Lincoln set his jaw, thinking about how Michael never changed. "I don't know, Mike. I think about when we were kids… I think about if I get out of here and what I want to do... I think about Veronica and me." He shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to tell you."

"I was just wondering."

"What do you think about?" Lincoln studied him.

"I haven't been in solitary."

"No, in general."

Michael shrugged. "The next part of the plan. Alternatives. The blueprints. The people I need."

"Sara?"

Michael's eyes locked onto his. "Lincoln…"

Lincoln smirked. "Okay, okay. Lousy attempt to change the subject."

"Stop."

Lincoln nodded. "Okay, man."

"She's secondary. It's the room."

"I know. Chill." Lincoln gave him a look.

Silence passed between them. Lincoln stirred the paint around for a few minutes, thinking. Then finally he spoke up again.

"Just one thing, Michael. Stay yourself through this. Don't let this place change you, alright?"

"Alright."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

"Good."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Lincoln loved to watch Michael do his homework. Mostly because it was a time of absolute silence where Michael was completely focused on whatever was in front of him, like it was the most interesting thing in the world. That meant that there was no fighting, no noise, no nothing. It was his utter concentration that Lincoln got a kick out of, and one thing he could count on._

_This particular afternoon, Lincoln stared at his little brother for a minute, feeling extremely lazy, because there he was, sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table and a can of beer in his hand, reading Sports Illustrated. Meanwhile, Michael sat on the floor in front of Lincoln, using the coffee table as a desk, doing math as an eighth grader that Lincoln had never seen during his time in high school. _

_One time Michael had asked him for help with part of his homework, and Lincoln had never felt dumber. He wasn't even sure what to call what Michael was working on, never mind help him with it. He told him he just didn't remember that stuff, and Michael resorted to rereading a couple chapters of his textbook, not asking again._

_Sometimes Lincoln would mess with him, just because it made him laugh. Michael never even noticed._

_"Michael," he said, fairly loudly, taking a sip of his beer. "Hey. Michael."_

_Michael wouldn't even turn for a second away from what he was doing, like he hadn't even heard Lincoln's voice. Lincoln was amused by it, but also amazed. For Lincoln, anything would distract him, from random thoughts of his own, to thinking he heard the neighbor in the hall. Someone saying his name would be a perfect excuse to talk or do something else. _

_In fact, he always sought out distractions. Not Michael._

_It was great in a way, because Michael seemed to enjoy being so enthralled in something, and it was an easy way to keep him home and quiet. _

_Lincoln remembered him being the same way when he was just a little boy too. It used to annoy him, because whether it was coloring books or building blocks or anything that was a solo project, Michael would become impossible to reach. He would just be in his own little world. Mom would explain to Lincoln that Michael had a different way of thinking, a different ability to concentrate, and eventually Lincoln got used to it. _

_Later they found out about the low latent inhibition. Most people unconsciously ignored excess stimuli. Michael on the other hand, and others with his state of mind, would process everything, and were easily overstimulated. When he was older, Lincoln started to do his own research on the 'disorder' and was a little concerned when he found out it made someone more prone to mental illness._

_He started paying a lot more attention to what Michael did then, even though he was still just a little kid; every time he had a tantrum or a got upset about something, Lincoln worried that his little brother was going crazy. When his mother figured that out, she assured Lincoln that Michael was extremely smart, and could deal with how his mind was set up. Lincoln took her word for it, and later realized how right she was._

_It still amazed him though, how focused Michael could be, and also how easily stressed he could be as well. He took things much more seriously than Lincoln ever had, and he had to constantly remind himself that there was a reason for that. _

_Watching him now, Lincoln was half proud of him, and half felt bad for him. He was glad his brother was smarter than he was. That way he would definitely make it through high school, hopefully go to college, and get a better job than Lincoln ever could. At the same time, Lincoln could imagine that thinking that hard was burden. _

_Flipping through a few pages in his magazine, Lincoln was caught off guard at the fire alarm, which suddenly went off in the apartment. Their apartment infrequently had fire alarms, and the last one had been sometime last year while they were sleeping. That one turned out to be someone who severely burned popcorn, which had set off the alarms. More of an annoyance than anything else. He couldn't even remember one before that._

_What caught him off guard even more this particular time was the fact Michael was still writing out some long formula and hadn't even blinked. _

_Lincoln took another long sip of his beer before he stood up. Then he put it down on the table and pushed himself up. "Michael. Come on."_

_Michael didn't move._

_Lincoln leaned down and slapped his brother hard across the head. Michael then looked up at him with a hurt look._

_"Get the fuck up, Michael," Lincoln snapped. "Don't you hear that?"_

_"Hear what—Oh…" Michael got to his feet, suddenly realizing what the piercing noise was, dropping his pencil on the table. He'd heard it, sure, he just hadn't realized…_

_"Oh?" Lincoln echoed, both worried and irritated as he headed for the door. "C'mon, okay?"_

_Michael looked down at the work he'd been doing, at the half finished formula that he just wanted to write the rest too, but then quickly followed Lincoln before he had to be called again, watching his brother grab the keys. Lincoln ushered him out the door and then locked it behind them. _

_"Did you not hear that?" Lincoln shoved him a little bit as they walked down the hall._

_"I did," Michael admitted. "I was… I just wanted to finish what I was writing."_

_"Finishing your math homework is a little less important than getting out during a fire alarm, don't you think…" Lincoln persisted. "What if it's a real fire?"_

_"I don't smell anything," Michael replied._

_"So you can magically see into every apartment and see nothing's on fire?"_

_"Yes."_

_Lincoln punched him in the arm. "For fuck's sake, Mike. Be serious with me here."_

_"It's gonna be popcorn burning again," Michael persisted, rubbing at his arm. "God, Lincoln. Stop getting so upset over nothing."_

_"It's not nothing," Lincoln retorted as they reached the stairwell, behind another one of their neighbors, who was a young woman carrying a toddler, a little girl with curly blonde hair who was covering her ears._

_"Do you know what it is?" she asked. _

_"Probably nothing," Michael told her. "Is that Lucy? She looks big."_

_"She's three now," the woman replied as they went down the stairs. "How are you doing, Michael?"_

_"I'm good," Michael answered. "She doesn't like the noise?"_

_"Nope," the woman laughed. _

_Lincoln was silent. He'd met the lady once before but didn't remember her name, and really wasn't sure what to say to her. He was surprised that Michael was on a speaking relationship with her. Lincoln had rarely said anything but 'hi' to the neighbors the few times he saw any of them when he came and went from the building._

_When they reached the last stairs and walked outside away from the building, there were just a few others out there. It wasn't a large building, and most probably weren't home. The woman Michael had been talking to walked past them towards another woman that lived in the building. The fire alarm had already stopped, so Lincoln assumed it was nothing serious._

_"Michael," Lincoln started. His brother was staring off at a car in the parking lot. "Hey. Let's talk about this."_

_"That's a new Mercedes. See it?"_

_"Nice."_

_Michael turned to him. "I heard the alarm, Lincoln. I just didn't hear it over what I was doing."_

_"What if you were home alone?"_

_"It's not a fire. Look he's going back in." Michael pointed to a man, who was walking away from the superintendent back into the building. "So it's fine. Want to go in?"_

_"No, I want to talk to you."_

_Michael got a miserable look on his face and shifted his weight uncomfortably, eyes focusing back on the building. "Lincoln. I don't want to… It's stupid."_

_"I just want to talk," Lincoln told the thirteen year old. "Can't we talk?"_

_"No. Go finish your beer instead."_

_"Michael." Lincoln laughed. "Please."_

_Michael turned and gave him an exasperated look. "Is this really just because I didn't get up right away?" He watched the other neighbors go back inside and gave his brother a weary look, sighing. _

_"Quick?" Lincoln persisted._

_"No…" _

_Lincoln was kind of amused with how miserable Michael looked. "Why are you pouting? I'm not yelling at you. Just tell me if you heard it."_

_Michael rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm not deaf, Lincoln, remember?"_

_"You didn't even move though. It was a fire alarm."_

_"Lincoln, this is a stupid argument." Michael took a step back to the building._

_"Hey…" Lincoln grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Don't give me that look, Mike. And it's not an argument. I just wanna know."_

_"Wanna know what?" Michael insisted. _

_"If there's a fire and you're doing your stupid work and you're just so focused, are you just gonna sit there and burn to death so you can finish your stupid work? Is that how your mind works?"_

_"It's not stupid work…" Michael said bitterly. "And no, Lincoln, like I said, that's dumb. You're acting like I'm deaf and like the building goes on fire every day."_

_Lincoln just looked at him. _

_Michael made a face, irritated as his brother's scrutiny._

_Lincoln wasn't sure how to explain it to him. He wanted to believe Michael, that it was stupid, and that of course he heard the alarm, and of course he would get up. But he couldn't convince himself._

_"Michael, I said your name, like three times while you were doing your work. And you didn't even move."_

_"You know I don't listen to you…" Michael teased, giving Lincoln a push._

_Lincoln shook his head. "Mike. It's serious. It wasn't not listening to what I said. You didn't even hear me. At all."_

_"I heard you…" Michael persisted, staring down at his sneakers. "It just doesn't click if it doesn't seem important. I was doing something else. You just don't get that. I can't explain it to you."_

_"So you just prioritize what's in your head, right? What you're paying attention to?"_

_"I have to," Michael muttered, kicking at some dirt. "It's too much. But I heard it. You don't get it. I was just finishing. I heard it."_

_Lincoln sighed. "Okay."_

_Michael looked up at him. "I did, Lincoln," he persisted. _

_"Okay, okay. I believe you."_

_Michael had a look on his face like he didn't think Lincoln believed him in the slightest. But he didn't say anything. _

_Lincoln sighed. "Okay let's drop it. Want to go inside?"_

_Michael paused and then put his hand on Lincoln's arm. "Let's go… look in that car…" He pointed to the new Mercedes. "Can we?"_

_Lincoln looked around, and there was no one nearby. He wasn't sure if it was weird to look into stranger's cars. He thought it might look suspicious, like they were casing it. "Only if we don't touch it."_

_"I just want to see the interior."_

_Lincoln shrugged. "Alright. Just don't think we're getting one."_

_"I don't."_

_"Okay, we have to look quick though." _

_Michael nodded, thrilled Lincoln had agreed. "Quick," he agreed. _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Michael watched his brother play basketball for a few minutes. It bothered him how Lincoln was separated from him by a huge metal gate, even when they were out in the yard. But that's just the way it was in here. He wasn't in there to argue about the policies of the prison in terms of inmate levels of security. He supposed under normal circumstances a prisoner on Death Row would typically be separated, and he wouldn't think twice.

He thought about the fence and then about everything else going on. So much had gone on in the short time he'd been in the prison. Simple things like other new prisoners arriving, making Michael not the newest despite his constant subjection to the "Fish" nickname. Then there were more complicated things like entwining mob boss Abruzzi into his intricate plan and getting his toes cut off in response to withholding his leverage, crucial witness protection information. Now his attempt to involve his cellmate Sucre had only alienated him from his once friend.

Sucre had moved out of his cell. In his place was Haywire, from the psych ward. Michael wasn't sure whether to be angry or terrified.

Finally, he approached the chain link fence and caught Lincoln's eye. Lincoln left his rebound to bounce off to the side as he approached the fence as well.

"Lincoln," Michael started, dragging his yard rake with him crossly, "we have a problem." He sighed. "I got a new cellmate."

Lincoln didn't show any concern yet. "Who…"

Michael just nodded his head in Haywire's direction. He couldn't imagine a more of a deranged looking person in here, with his wild hair and unfocused look, where he looked distractedly on guard.

"That's a problem," Lincoln admitted.

"We're just gonna have to bring him on board." Michael sighed.

"You're gonna bring a guy like that on board?"

"And I'll work at night, while he's sleeping."

Before either of them could say another word, a C.O. nearby barked, "Ten feet, Scofield!"

Michael glared, wishing he could fight these stupid restrictions, but said nothing. Lincoln walked away, picking up the discarded basketball, and Michael walked around, reaching the part of the gates that had more distance between them.

"How far behind are we?" Lincoln asked. His voice was calm, but Michael could tell by the way he handled the basketball nervously that his brother was starting to get anxious about the plan as well. Michael wouldn't let him know how worried he was, but he wouldn't lie either.

"Three days."

Lincoln didn't even look up at him. "I thought you said the margin for error was zero days…"

"I did," Michael admitted.

Lincoln leaned his arms up against the fence as he watched his brother slowly walk away. This wasn't good. Before Michael got too far, he called out, "Michael."

Michael turned, eyeing him carefully, and then walked back over. "Yeah."

"It's okay." Lincoln leaned his hand against this hand, peering through the links.

Michael shook his head. "It's not."

"So you work when he's sleeping, and we worry about bringing him on board later if we need to. Right?"

Michael hesitated and then nodded. "Yeah. I just really need to keep on schedule."

"You were always a schedule nerd. But I'm sure there's more flexibility than you thought, Mike."

"Don't you think I'd know if there was?" Michael gave him a look, speaking impatiently. "I designed every angle of this, Lincoln. But I do have plenty of Plan B's. I think. Nothing for you to worry about."

"There's plenty for me to worry about," Lincoln retorted. He had every right to be impatient if Michael was.

"Let's not talk about it," Michael said. "I have it figured out." He looked back across the yard at Haywire again. The man hadn't moved an inch.

Lincoln paused. "I saw LJ."

Michael turned his head quickly to look at Lincoln, trying to gauge his expression. "And?"

Lincoln just nodded, moving his head back and forth like he wasn't sure exactly how to respond. "It's… It's hard, I guess. It was really good to see him though. I don't even know how long it's been. A while, anyway."

"Yeah… He came to my trial. I don't remember if I told you. But I told him not to and I felt really bad," Michael persisted. "I mean for him to see it. I told him not to, and he came anyway."

"I'm not surprised," Lincoln answered. "Neither of you have ever done what you're told."

"So, it was good though? To see him?" Michael persisted, with a frown. He always had a hard time reading his brother, who always just had a solemn expression.

"Of course it was… I just wish I didn't have to sit with a wall between us, you know?" Lincoln persisted. "He's a good kid. I really hope… I really hope this doesn't mess him up. I mean it will, of course…" Lincoln sighed.

"You're not guilty though. When we get out—"

"Stop, Michael. Let's not talk about that for now."

Michael pressed his lips together and nodded.

"I just want him to still think of me as his father," Lincoln persisted. "I feel like he completely wants to write me out of his life, and if it was easier, then he would."

Michael shrugged. "I doubt it."

"I asked him to be there. For final visitation."

Michael just stared. "So you had a great, uplifting conversation with him… I can tell."

"Michael," Lincoln rebuked.

"Sorry. It's just…" Michael shrugged. "What did he say?"

"I don't know. I hope he comes. As weird of a thing as it is, and with how hard I know it's going to be for him... I really hope Lisa helps him out with this."

"Lisa's a really good mom."

Lincoln nodded. "I know. But you don't really learn about this in Parenting 101."

Michael laughed. "I don't think you learn a lot in there."

"Are you an expert?"

"I just don't think there's like… a Chapter 24… Helping your son visit his father, your ex-lover, on Death Row."

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Probably wouldn't be a big seller."

Michael shook his head.

Lincoln sighed. "There was never a chapter on high school drop out raises their little brother after their Dad splits and Mom dies chapter either."

"Did you check?"

Lincoln smirked. "Sometimes," he admitted. "Would've been nice anyway."

"Yeah. We did okay."

"Other than we're both in prison."

"Shit happens." Michael shrugged.

"LJ has terrible role models. You were my hope for him."

"He'll understand one day." Michael sighed. He leaned against his rake. "I'm glad he came today too. He'll come back?"

Lincoln nodded. "Supposed to. We'll see."

"He will."

Lincoln paused for a moment, bouncing the basketball distractedly. "Do you think he looks more like Lisa or me?"

Michael looked at Lincoln like he was crazy. "Why?"

"I want to know if he'll remind anyone of me."

"Lincoln," Michael objected.

Lincoln shrugged. "I don't know."

Michael picked up his rake, watching the others doing yard work, heading back to the other side of the yard. "I should go."

"Okay. Take care of yourself. Tell me if Haywire gives you a problem."

Michael nodded, walking away.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_When Michael was twelve years old, he broke his wrist at school. At first, he didn't know it was broken, he just knew that it was the worst pain he'd ever felt and it wouldn't go away. To make it worse it was the hand he wrote with. _

_It happened from a fall, and he hadn't landed right. This kid that he'd never gotten along with had shoved him after lunch when he wasn't looking, and he'd fallen right on the concrete. They'd argued after, but there hadn't been much time left in recess and it ended quickly._

_Being no stranger to bumps and bruises, and used to being told to suck it up and it would go away, Michael told himself it was nothing. It concerned him a little bit that he wasn't able to move his wrist very well, at least not without excruciating pain, but he figured like most things, it would go away._

_His friend at school told him that if he'd broken it, it would be all bruised and you would definitely be able to tell. Michael stared at his wrist for the rest of the afternoon, and it didn't really look bruised, maybe a little swollen. It was just that the pain kept getting worse._

_By the time he got home from school, the pain was more of a dull throbbing. Lincoln was home when he got there. It was a Friday, and he had a half day or something. _

_Michael wanted to tell him what happened, but just last week Lincoln spent an entire day furiously complaining about his own medical bill for going to the doctor when he sliced his hand open at work, where he did construction. Lincoln muttered to himself that whole day about how if they had any more bills like this, they'd be on the street, and Michael had been afraid to go anywhere near him. _

_He also would bet that Lincoln would ask him why he hadn't hit the kid back for pushing him. Lincoln was huge on standing up for yourself and fighting back. Michael just knew if he fought back, he'd get beaten even worse._

_"How was school?" Lincoln asked. He seemed to be in a good mood, watching some sitcom on TV._

_"Good," Michael answered. He wondered if he should put ice on his wrist. _

_"Got a lot of work?"_

_"No… Not really."_

_"How was that test? Was that today?"_

_Michael tossed his backpack on the armchair near Lincoln. "Yeah. It was easy."_

_"Get a hundred?" Lincoln teased._

_"I dunno," Michael muttered. _

_Lincoln glanced away, back at the TV, as his show came back from commercial. "Oh, hey, buddy…" he started. "You mind if we eat early? I'm gonna go out with some friends after."_

_Michael nodded. "'Kay."_

_"It'll be like five anyway, that's okay, right? You're always hungry."_

_Michael couldn't think about food at the moment. He just nodded and stood there for a couple of minutes, worrying and watching Lincoln laugh at whatever show was on. "Lincoln? Do we have insurance?"_

_Lincoln frowned and looked at his brother. "Huh? No. That's why that fucking bill for my hand cost me an arm and a leg last week. I woulda patched it myself if I thought about it, instead of paying that stupid doctor." He shook his head, and then studied Michael. "Why?"_

_Michael shrugged, feeling anxious. "Uh… No reason… I was just… curious."_

_"I don't get benefits at work, that's why."_

_Michael nodded. "I'm gonna do homework." He started walked towards the kitchen._

_"Mike."_

_Michael turned, looking at him suspiciously. "What…?"_

_"Need that?" Lincoln pointed to his book bag, raising an eyebrow._

_"Oh." Michael paused and then walked over to grab it with his left hand, tossing it over his shoulder. "Yeah."_

_Lincoln laughed at him. "Long day, Mikey?"_

_"Yeah." Michael sighed, walking towards the kitchen. He threw his bag on the floor by the table once he was there and then just sat down. He put his hand out on the table and stared at it. It looked a little more swollen. He tried to move it again and winced. _

_By the time dinner rolled around, Michael wasn't sure his hand could hurt much more. He figured maybe it actually was broken, even if it hadn't turned any colors like his friend said, and maybe he should tell Lincoln after all. Maybe he'd know how to fix it anyway._

_He couldn't yet. He thought about what the bills would be, and figured there should be at least a little gap between them both going to the doctor. _

_Lincoln made spaghetti for dinner and they sat down together to eat, the sound of the TV from inside covering their silence. Michael had the sense that Lincoln was watching him suspiciously and felt kind of nervous. He knew he was probably acting weird, thinking only about his hand, but maybe it was in his head._

_A moment passed without a problem._

_Then Lincoln opened a can of soda and spoke. "Mikey. You're not left handed."_

_Michael looked down at his food, where he was clumsily poking his fork at the spaghetti with his left hand, feeling completely uncoordinated. "Oh. Yeah. I… I'm just trying it."_

_Lincoln frowned at him, taking a sip from the can of soda. "Man, why?" he replied. _

_"I dunno," Michael answered, keeping his other hand in his lap. "See if I could be ambidextrous."_

_"Don't be stupid. Just eat normal."_

_Michael ignored him, awkwardly wrapping the spaghetti around the fork. He could feel Lincoln's eyes on him and felt completely conspicuous. He slowly ate a mouthful of spaghetti. _

_Lincoln laughed. "You're a funny kid, you know that?"_

_Michael looked up at him irritably. "Stop looking at me. Just eat." He dropped the fork by accident and picked it up ineptly. _

_"Eat properly," Lincoln answered. "You're not proving anything."_

_Michael shrugged._

_"You're obviously not ambidextrous."_

_Michael paused, trying again and then just setting down his fork, feeling helpless. This wasn't going to work. He definitely wasn't left-handed. He wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't do anything without being right-handed. And it just simply hurt so bad, it wasn't going away at all. _

_He wasn't sure what to do. He tried to pick up the fork with his right hand and gave up._

_He looked at Lincoln and then started to cry._

_Lincoln swallowed a gulp of soda and looked at his brother in surprise. "Mike."_

_"I think it's broke…" Michael cried._

_"So you're not left-handed. Don't be a fucking baby about it." Lincoln shook his head. "I don't get you sometimes."_

_"No…" Michael insisted in a whimper. He held up his other hand miserably. "I think I broke it." _

_Lincoln set down his can of soda, confused. "When? Stop crying at me. What are you talking about?"_

_Michael took a deep breath and tried to explain what happened. When he almost finished, Lincoln interrupted._

_"At school? You've been home for over an hour though."_

_"It didn't hurt so much before," Michael lied. _

_Lincoln studied him for a moment, and then pushed his chair back. He moved his chair around the table to pull it up close to his brother and sat down next to him with a sigh, putting out his hand. "Here. Show me. What part hurts?" _

_Michael stuck his hand behind his back and shook his head. "No, Lincoln, I don't want you to touch it."_

_"Grow up," Lincoln persisted, giving his tearful brother a stern look. _

_"It hurts…."_

_"So show me, dumbass."_

_"What are you gonna do?" Michael asked hesitantly as Lincoln took his arm and pulled it out from behind his back. _

_"Just gonna look…" Lincoln persisted, holding his arm gently. "Show me the other one." He compared when Michael stuck out his other arm. "Yeah, this one's a lot more swollen. Why didn't you tell me?"_

_Michael just shrugged, "I don't know…"_

_"Obviously it hurts. Whattaya think pretending it's fine's gonna do?" Lincoln persisted. "Huh?"_

_"I thought it'd feel better…"_

_"You gotta tell me these things, Michael. You think I'm a fucking mind reader?"_

_Michael shrugged, wiping his nose._

_"Let's go to the doctor."_

_"No," Michael objected. "No, we can't…"_

_"Why not? We have to get it x-rayed. Maybe it's a really bad sprain. Can you move it?" Lincoln patted his leg. "Move it for me."_

_"No…"_

_"Michael."_

_"No!" he insisted._

_"Can you or does it just hurt really bad?"_

_Michael shook his head. "I don't know."_

_Lincoln grew exasperated. "Oh come on. Which one is it?" Michael didn't answer and Lincoln just pushed his chair back, grabbing Michael's good arm and pulling him up as well. "Let's go. They'll find out."_

_"Go where?" Michael objected._

_"Doctor."_

_"No…" Michael groaned. He thought there would be a better solution than this. He pulled against Lincoln's hold and tried to sit back down. _

_"What's your problem?" Lincoln insisted as his brother fell back into his chair. He gave him a look. "How do you cry about it and then just wanna ignore it?"_

_"I just wanted to tell you."_

_"Now I want to bring you to a doctor." Lincoln frowned. "Not a tough concept."_

_"It is."_

_Lincoln grew exasperated. He felt like he could never understand Michael. "Michael, okay. Let's go. Get up. This is just annoying now."_

_"But…" Michael began slowly. Then he just let it out. "We can't. We don't have insurance."_

_Lincoln stared at him for a moment and then looked furious. He grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him off the chair. "Michael," he said in a low voice. "I don't even know what to say to you."_

_"We don't… You said," Michael answered, confused. _

_"I'm getting my wallet, and we're going," Lincoln shot back, pushing Michael towards the door with a hard slap across his backside. "Go."_

_"Maybe it's not broken," Michael persisted warily. _

_"For fuck's sake." Lincoln stared at him. "You want me to give you something else for them to fix? Then get out of the kitchen."_

_Michael listened but was still worried. This was going to be something for Lincoln to hold against him later. He followed his brother into the bedroom where he was grabbing his wallet off the dresser and asked him. _

_"No," Lincoln persisted. "Mike, if it's broken, we'll get it fixed. I don't care about the money. Don't you get that?_

_"And you can still go out tonight? You won't get mad and not?"_

_"Of course I can," Lincoln retorted, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket. "I'm not mad about anything except you not telling me." He walked out of the room and Michael followed him. "Okay?"_

_"Okay," Michael agreed. _

_"And you thinking saving a buck is worth more than fixing you is kind of just irritating too."_

_"It's gonna be a lot more than a buck I think," Michael said slowly._

_"Yeah," Lincoln agreed. "But it's okay, you fucker. Get over it."_

_"Just don't hold it against me," Michael persisted._

_"I don't do that."_

_"Yes, you do."_

_"Well, I disagree, but if you insist, then not this time. I promise." Lincoln reached the door. "I don't hold you being sick against you, Michael." He pulled open the door. "C'mon, kid. Quit worrying so much. That's my job."_

_Michael sighed. "Okay. If it's not broken do they still charge you?"_

_Lincoln laughed and slung his arm around Michael's shoulders, dragging him out the door. "You really are funny, Mikey."_

_Michael shrugged._

_"I really hope they give you pain meds. Tell them it hurts really badly, okay?"_

_Michael gave him a surprised look. "It does hurt really bad."_

_"Well, then they should give you some."_

_"Are the meds for you or me?" Michael joked._

_"We'll see who needs them more," Lincoln answered. _

_Michael just rolled his eyes. "You're weird."_

_"I'm mostly joking about it, don't worry." _

_Michael just shook his head, and was happy that his hand would hopefully stop hurting soon._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay I cheated. This one is all a flashback. I hope nobody minds. I was trying to intermingle the flashbacks with current days but… It happens. I want to thank those who have left such thoughtful reviews. When you take the time to really be constructive and say more than 'I like this', it really is encouraging and helps a lot, so thank you so much. **

**I'm so excited for the show to start back up again in August.**

**Anyway, enjoy!  
**

**Chapter 7**

_Coming home from school, it was just chance that Michael was about to unlock the door when Veronica came bursting out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her furiously. When she realized she'd nearly slammed right into the seventeen year old in fate timing, she stopped, a flustered look mixing with the dark anger on her face. _

_"Michael," she started, an odd tone to her voice. She took a deep breath. "How was school?"_

_Michael picked up on her voice and posture immediately. As if her exit from the apartment wasn't enough to indicate something was the matter. "What's wrong?" he asked slowly._

_"Your brother," Veronica answered shortly. "That's what's wrong. We're done. Again. But this time, I mean it."_

_Michael stared at her. It was hard to see Veronica angry because she rarely was. In fact, she put up with a hell of a lot and was usually the patient one through all situations, trying to mediate and dig through the mess to find a solution. It wasn't often he saw this look on her face, or the clenched fists, or the shining eyes, fighting back tears. It made him feel nervous. Or confused. Or mad. He wasn't sure._

_"Why?" he asked, catching her arm as she started to walk away. He didn't want her to go. Not like this. "What'd he do?"_

_"What didn't he do?" she shot back, and then seeing Michael's face, frowned and patted his arm. "I'm sorry, Michael. I'm just sick and tired of trying to fix things with him and make him a better man. He has to start cleaning up his own act." She shook her head, looking like she was about to cry. "There's only so much I can let slide by."_

_"Don't go yet," Michael persisted. "He'll apologize for whatever it is. I'll make him."_

_"You can't." She shook his head. "No one makes him do anything."_

_"Just wait." Michael liked Veronica. She listened to him. He was able to have intelligent conversations with her, and she actually listened and cared, or at least pretended well, and that was enough. She was going places and he wanted to hear about it. And he knew what happened when they broke up; she wouldn't come around, he would barely see her, and that wasn't fair. It seemed like there'd always been Veronica. _

_"An apology isn't good enough this time, Michael. It doesn't mean anything if he doesn't change."_

_"But…" he started. He paused, searching for the words and falling short. "Well, when do you think you'll go out with him again?"_

_She gave him a sad smile. "It's not going to always be that easy, Michael."_

_He frowned at her. "But you have to."_

_"I can't do this on and off stuff." She glanced towards the door. "You go ahead. I have to go home." She leaned forward and gave him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. "Be good."_

_"Veronica…" he objected, but she started to walk away._

_"Bye, Mike," she said, sticking her hands into her coat pockets as she continued down the hall. He didn't call her again. He knew how stubborn she would be. _

_Michael stood outside the apartment door for a minute, feeling angry. How dare Lincoln? How could he do this to Veronica, and to him? He wasn't even sure exactly what he'd done, but he didn't care. It was a culmination of everything. Michael knew how Veronica felt. He hadn't been able to have a decent conversation with Lincoln in what felt like weeks. It did get very frustrating. _

_Michael stared at the door, glaring it and wondering what mood he'd find Lincoln in inside. He imagined they'd just had a huge fight and that normally didn't make him the most pleasant person to be around._

_Michael was angry. This whole Lincoln/Veronica thing topped a bad day at school. His last period teacher had yelled at him for not coming to class two days in a row and for missing a quiz, which had been a mistake, but he didn't care anyway. That class was extremely boring. He could probably teach it. School was starting to get tedious. It was easy, but he felt stupid telling anybody that. Either way, the whole day's events made him mad._

_He was glad he'd run into Veronica. He convinced himself he would tell Lincoln just how mad he was, and find out why Lincoln kept messing things up._

_He stuck his key in the door, opening it irritably. _

_School and now this. Now Veronica was gone and upset. Gone for who knows how long. And she didn't deserve to be upset._

_He pushed open the door and walked inside, slamming it behind him hard enough to make the picture on the wall shake. Lincoln was on the couch and looked up at his entrance in surprise, distracted now from whatever he'd been thinking. The TV was on as usual._

_Lincoln cleared his throat. "That's quite an entrance. First Veronica, now you. Is everyone having a shitty day, because I didn't get a memo." _

_Michael walked over and threw his backpack down in the corner. He stood in front of Lincoln with a fixed glare._

_Lincoln stared back, looking a little confused. "What?"_

_"You're so stupid," Michael answered. "What'd you do this time?"_

_"No 'hi, how are you'?" Lincoln answered with a frown. He had a hint of where this was going, but wanted to avoid it at all costs. "Where are your manners?"_

_"What'd you do to her?" Michael persisted._

_Lincoln took a deep breath. "Michael." He sighed and shook his head. "I don't have time for this right now."_

_"Why not? You're doing absolutely nothing. As usual."_

_"Michael…"_

_"I just talked to her and she left. Really mad. What did you **do**?" he persisted, raising his voice. _

_"Calm down, Michael." Lincoln gave him a look. "You really think I want to deal with you right now after what just happened? You don't even know the situation."_

_"Well, then tell me, Linc. What happened?" Michael demanded._

_"We had a pretty significant fight," Lincoln answered, voice starting to have an edge. He was annoyed by Michael's condescending criticism. "And before you start your lecture, Michael, for your information, she broke up with me. Not my plan. Okay?"_

_"No, it's not okay. Might as well be your plan, because you can't fucking do anything!" Michael answered. "It's always your fault, you know. Whenever you fight, it always is. What'd you do this time?" _

_Lincoln looked him over, taking in his anger and his furrowed brow. Michael was obviously riled up over the situation, more riled than Lincoln was, who hadn't exactly thought things through yet. "Lower your voice, Michael."_

_"No. I'm mad."_

_"You know, she's **my** girlfriend, right? I don't know why this is so much of your business." But Lincoln knew that Veronica was a good friend to Michael. They didn't have many women in their life, and Veronica was especially good to Michael, like an older sister. Lincoln had learned a lot about his own brother from her and knew Michael trusted her immensely._

_Michael looked around the room. It had to be something. Lincoln had to have done something, and he knew there'd be evidence of it around. He looked down at the coffee table. There were a few magazines, a few empty beer cans, and then he saw it. There was a plastic baggy and he recognized immediately what was in it. He'd recognize those greenish, brown dried leaves anywhere. And there was a hell of a lot of it. _

_"Is that what she was pissed about?" he asked, eyeing it and giving Lincoln an annoyed look._

_Lincoln glanced at where Michael was looking and sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Among other things. Look, if you just—"_

_Michael didn't wait to listen. He grabbed the baggy quickly off the table and darted towards the bathroom. Behind him, he heard Lincoln bark his name but ignored it, quickly opening the baggy in flight. Over the toilet he pulled out the contents, breaking it apart and dumping it into the water as soon as he reached it, taking only seconds. _

_He felt overwhelmingly good about what he'd just down and was about to flush it when Lincoln grabbed his arm, yanking him back so hard that a shooting pain went up his arm. _

_"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Michael?" Lincoln demanded, eyes wild, unable to comprehend what his brother had just done. "Do you have any idea?"_

_Michael set his jaw stubbornly and shoved Lincoln away from him, reaching then to flush the toilet. Then while Lincoln was momentarily distracted, watching his stash get sucked down into the pipes, Michael dashed around him out to the other room. _

_Michael hadn't felt so proud in quite a long time. He held the empty bag in his hand, standing outside, and lifted it up to his nose to smell it. The smell was still very strong, but he was glad that there was nothing left. He'd never stood up to Lincoln like this before. He would argue with him, fight him, but never like this. _

_Before he could think about what a great service he'd done his brother, he found himself being slapped upside the head by a very angry Lincoln, whom he turned to face, feeling unnaturally confident. But when he saw Lincoln's look he also felt suddenly nervous. _

_"Michael. Do you know what you just did?" Lincoln demanded, voice low and threatening._

_"Yes," Michael answered assertively._

_Lincoln's glare was unwavering. "Do you really? I mean, do you understand"_

_Michael wasn't sure he'd seen his brother this mad in a long time, and while he thought it would be best to run away now based on experience, he told himself not to. He stood there, determined, as Lincoln's eyes narrowed._

_"Yes." Michael held the empty bag up to Lincoln's face and then let it go. It floated down and sat benignly on the carpet. "I'm not stupid. And I'd do it again."_

_"Do you wanna pay for that?" Lincoln asked, voice getting louder. "Do you have the money to pay me back for that?"_

_"Nope." Michael stared at him. "I'd say you're out of luck unless you can convince the porcelain god to—" He cut himself off as Lincoln slapped him across the face. He breathed in deeply, feeling the sting, determined not to get upset. He should have expected that._

_"I'm gonna make you wish you hadn't done it." Lincoln clenched his fists. _

_"You started it," Michael retorted. "And I would too do it again." _

_"Yeah? You'll do it again after I beat the tar out of you?"_

_Michael felt his anger rise. "I did it because you ruin everything," he snapped, shoving Lincoln hard enough that the older man took a step back. "And because you hurt everybody. You don't care about anything. You don't realize how good Veronica is to you. And you can't act like any of that's my fault." _

_"Don't **push me,**" Lincoln snapped, shoving him back. "You wanna talk about caring? Tell me why your teacher called me today. About your zero on a quiz and cutting class, Michael? How about we talk about that?"_

_"Don't change it to me," Michael objected angrily. "You can't just automatically turn everything against me. What I do is nothing compared to you, but you act like I'm the irresponsible one. I'm sick of it, Lincoln."_

_"You wanna judge me, that's fucking fine, Michael. Judge all you fucking want... But you don't interfere with what I have to do, and you don't interfere with my stuff. You're not the one in charge. Do you understand me?"_

_"No!' Michael answered. "I don't understand you!" _

_"What happened today is between me and Veronica," Lincoln snapped. "It's none of your business and neither is my property. You don't just storm in and give me shit! Give me shit before you even find out what's going on. You don't even have an idea. It's none of your business."_

_"It is my business!"_

_"It **isn't**, Michael. Get over it."_

_"No!" Michael replied. And with that he thought it would be a good idea to try to slug Lincoln. But Lincoln caught his fist in his hand inches before it hit him in the jaw._

_"You wanna try to fight me?" Lincoln asked bitterly. He twisted Michael's arm, turning him around and pushed him up against the wall beside them, holding his arm bent behind his back to keep him pinned. "Is that what you want to do?"_

_"Yes," Michael answered indignantly, his chest pressed hard up against the wall._

_"Well, **don't**, Michael." Lincoln pushed against him harder. "You'll get hurt. You forget who's still bigger than you." _

_Michael took a deep breath, not responding, his cheek pressed against the wall. He didn't try to pull away yet. His arm hurt enough at that angle behind his back that he knew not to try. But he wasn't going to give up yet._

_"I can't believe you," Lincoln muttered. "This is unbelievable. You and Veronica. Unbelievable. You're a pain in the ass, Michael." _

_At that moment the phone rang, and Lincoln let go off Michael, turning towards the kitchen. Michael took that moment as an opportunity to strike again. With Lincoln's back to him, he decided to jump on him, wrapping his arms around his neck and forcing him down with all of his weight. Not expecting the hit, Lincoln easily tripped to the floor, landing with a hard thud and a string of curses. _

_Michael knew he wasn't as strong as Lincoln, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to put up a fight. He usually found himself immediately pinned when they wrestled, but not this time. He was determined, keeping his weight on his brother's back and his arm around his neck in a headlock. He dug his knee into the small of his back as hard as he could. _

_Lincoln moved beneath him and nearly broke from the headlock immediately. Michael held on futilely, wincing as his elbow dragged across the carpet painfully as Lincoln moved. He felt like he was trying to ride a bull._

_"Michael, you better get the fuck off of me," Lincoln barked exasperatedly, the phone continuing to ring in the kitchen. "What the hell, man."_

_"No!" Michael persisted, trying to tighten the headlock. He dug his knee harder into Lincoln's back. _

_They struggled for a little bit, Michael attempting to keep the upper hand, but within about thirty seconds, Lincoln's strength won out and he twisted Michael's arm out from around his neck, which freed him to turn his body, throwing Michael off of his back. Before Michael could scramble to regain his weighted position on top of him, Lincoln launched himself at him, both landing hard._

_Michael's head snapped back against the floor as Lincoln shoved him down, and he glared, immediately struggling to get back up. Despite this, Lincoln easily gained the advantage and flipped Michael to his belly, shoving him down flat and reversing their positions. _

_"Idiot," Lincoln said as he sat on Michael's back, ignoring Michael's futile struggle as he squirmed and wriggled beneath him angrily. "Fucking idiot. What are you trying…"_

_"Get off!" Michael kicked out and tried to elbow his way away from the floor, but Lincoln was a heavy, dead-weight on top of him, holding his arms, and struggling seemed to enhance the pressure on his back. _

_"You better calm yourself, you understand?" Lincoln reprimanded as his brother writhed beneath him. "Michael. Enough is enough."_

_"Get off!" Michael yelled._

_"No," Lincoln answered. "Not till you calm down." _

_"No!" Michael shouted. "Get **off**, Lincoln!"_

_"I oughtta just pound you now for flushing my stash," Lincoln persisted. "I'm telling myself to think from your perspective and all, but so help me God, Michael, if you don't quit kicking like that. Michael. Stop. You'll be sorry." _

_"It's illegal!" Michael yelled. _

_"Punishing you? Nah, I don't think so." Lincoln shifted his weight, trying to keep the wriggling teenager still. "Law's pretty liberal about what I can do to you."_

_"No, the drugs," Michael persisted. He continued to try to push against Lincoln, growing frustrated. "Get **off**…" _

_Lincoln began to at least feel relieved that, with the amount he was struggling, this would tire Michael out enough to calm him down. He was still furious though and it was all he could do to not use this position to his advantage and actually hurt his brother. He had no idea what had gotten into Michael and why he had flushed the bag, and why he was putting up such a fight. "Fuck illegal. You can flush my stuff, Michael. What if I flushed something of yours?"_

_"Go ahead!" Michael shot back._

_"Go ahead?"_

_"I don't care!" Michael persisted. "Get **off**, Lincoln! I hate you!"_

_"If you wanna be a child, I'll treat you like a fucking child. Is that what you want?"_

_"No! Get off!" Michael yelled._

_"I told you. Not till you calm the fuck down." He slapped his brother's leg. "Stop kicking around like that, because I'm not getting up. What are you trying to prove?"_

_Michael said nothing, breathing hard, feeling the rough carpet beneath his cheek._

_"Tell me," Lincoln persisted. "Maybe I won't even get up till you tell me." He shook his head. "What do you think hitting me and jumping on me is going to prove?"_

_Michael took a deep exasperated breath. Lincoln handled everything physically. Yet he couldn't understand at all that Michael could too and might be upset over something. "I'm **mad**," he responded sharply._

_"No shit. This isn't the way you handle it."_

_"Then **how**?" Michael shot back. "Lincoln, get off me. Now."_

_"No. You put yourself in this situation with your little tantrum."_

_"No," Michael snapped. "No, I didn't. You did. Get off."_

_"You're not giving me much of a choice. We can argue all day about it. I'm not budging till you calm the fuck down."_

_"Hmph." Michael strained again to get up or roll over and it was impossible. Lincoln was too heavy. _

_"Tell me why you flushed the bag, Michael."_

_"Because."_

_"Because isn't an acceptable answer."_

_"Because."_

_"You realize I have to pay for that."_

_"I can call the police," Michael threatened. "I could tell them what you've been doing."_

_"You flushed the evidence," Lincoln said. "So you can go right ahead."_

_"They'll lock you up."_

_"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Lincoln answered. "Go ahead, Michael. Go ahead and call the police."_

_"I might," Michael muttered. They both knew that he wouldn't. Michael hated when Lincoln went away anywhere, and there was no way he would ever try to get him arrested. It was an empty threat._

_"I have to pay for it," Lincoln persisted. "Do you know how much that was?"_

_"No," Michael admitted. "But I don't care."_

_"You don't care…" Lincoln echoed stiffly, irritated. His stomach turned a little bit when he thought about what Michael had done. He started to get angry at himself for leaving it out like that. It had added fuel to the fire behind Veronica's fight, and now it has caused this…_

_"No, I don't," Michael insisted, voice trembling. "You can get mad as you want, and I still don't care. I'd do it again."_

_Lincoln wasn't sure why Michael was being so combative. After the huge fight he'd had with Veronica, he was having a hard time figuring out how to deal with anything, never mind his little brother. Especially over issues that didn't even have to do with him. And as much as he easily threatened it, he didn't feel like keeping him pinned for a long period of time. _

_"I would!" Michael insisted when Lincoln hadn't answered. He squirmed._

_Lincoln took a deep breath. "You enjoy getting me mad, Michael? You come home from school thinking, I think I'll piss Lincoln off today?"_

_"No."_

_"Then why are you being so difficult?"_

_"You are."_

_"No, I'm not. You started this. You came home yelling at me. And I didn't jump on top of you." Lincoln was torn. Michael rarely got this riled up._

_"You hit me."_

_"You've had worse. You flushed my stuff. You deserved it. You deserve more than that in fact."_

_"It's illegal." Michael's voice was stiff._

_"It's the principle of it, Michael. Of what you did." _

_"Why did you ruin things with Veronica?"_

_"I didn't. Look, Mike, if you want me to ever get up, I suggest you first calm down, and maybe admit to yourself that my problems with Veronica aren't your problems. If then you wanna give me a solution to the lack of inventory I suddenly have, that would be great. But with Veronica… You don't even know what happened." _

_Michael struggled to move again. "It is too my problem."_

_"Look, I know you like when she comes around, Michael... But get over it."_

_"You fucked it up."_

_"So I'm not perfect."_

_"She said she won't come back this time." Michael paused. "She said she's sick and tired of it and she's not coming back this time."_

_Lincoln didn't answer right away and Michael knew he'd hit a nerve. He knew that as much as Lincoln was acting like it was just another annoyance, Veronica walking out like that was upsetting him just as much as it was upsetting Michael. Michael figured Lincoln would snap out of it and go crawling back to her at some point, whether it be today or tomorrow, but whether Veronica would give him the opportunity to get an apology out this time was questionable._

_"That's what she said, right before she left," Michael insisted. _

_"Okay, Michael."_

_"Get off."_

_"Did you think that jumping on top of me would fix something?" Lincoln persisted. "Did you think that flushing my stash would fix something?"_

_"Yes."_

_"What did you expect me to do?"_

_"Hit me like you did, but then not sell anything. Or smoke anything. And then… Then I don't know. But it would fix that part." _

_Lincoln swallowed, not sure how to reply. The phone started to ring again and Lincoln glanced towards the kitchen before glancing down at his brother, who had definitely calmed down a bit._

_"Get off," Michael insisted gently._

_Lincoln paused and then acquiesced, getting up and leaving Michael on the floor as he walked towards the kitchen to grab the phone. Michael took a deep breath and rolled pushed himself up, stretching out his aching body as he followed Lincoln. He was done with trying to tackle him. One good thing about them was that they didn't stay angry long. Michael was still annoyed, and he assumed Lincoln was too, but he'd gotten his aggression out. He didn't expect Lincoln to be too heated now, despite what he'd done. _

_"I didn't expect to hear from you so soon," Lincoln was saying, leaning against the counter with the phone to his ear. He gave Michael an exasperated look when he slipped in next to him and pulled himself up to sit on the counter._

_"Is it Veronica?" Michael asked._

_"I know," Lincoln said into the phone, giving Michael a look. "That's not what I meant…. Yes, I know that…. No…." He sighed. "No…"_

_Michael wished he could hear the other side of the conversation. He knew it was Veronica. He could tell by Lincoln's tone._

_"Oh, you did? I didn't notice…" Lincoln said slowly, listening. "No… Oh, come on, V, that's ridiculous…" _

_"You didn't apologize yet," Michael reminded, studying his brother. "Say you're sorry. Linc…. Say it."_

_Lincoln looked at him in exasperation and put his hand on Michael's knee, squeezing gently. _

_"I can bring it," he said. "I can leave right now."_

_Michael frowned, wondering what they were talking about. He was surprised that Veronica had called, and was really curious as to why. There had to be a good reason. She was too stubborn to be talking to him just yet._

_A disappointed look came over Lincoln's face and he looked at Michael, giving him an impatient expression. "Why?" He paused. "Well, he can't, V. I can….. Why? Because….. Because I said so, that's why……. Well, I'm sorry, what do you want to do then?……." Lincoln squeezed Michael's knee harder. _

_"What?" Michael insisted._

_"You're being ridiculous," Lincoln said into the phone. "…… No, I don't want to fight again, I just think— ……. No, it's you being ridiculous……. What if I don't want Michael leaving right now?…….. No…… No, V. Leaving him here is different."_

_"What does she want me to do?" Michael poked Lincoln. _

_"Do you know what he just did to me?" Lincoln began. "Do you have any— What?... No, trust me, you would enjoy hearing this……."_

_Michael pulled the phone out of Lincoln's hand, unable to bear hearing half of the conversation any longer, especially when he was part of the conversation. As Lincoln attempted to snatch it back, Michael turned himself away, quickly addressing Veronica._

_"What do you want me to do?" he asked._

_"Michael?" Veronica answered, surprised. _

_"Yeah, what do you want me to—Ow." He glared at Lincoln, who had just hit him in the head. Michael thought it was amazing he didn't have brain damage from the amount of times Lincoln did that._

_"Give me the phone back, brat," Lincoln hissed._

_"Did he just hit you?" Veronica asked. _

_"No," Michael answered, to both of them. _

_"Okay. Well, I'm calling because I was stupid," she started, "and I left my keys in your apartment. I think they're in the kitchen on the counter. I just got home, and low and behold… I'm locked out, and nobody is home."_

_"Oh…"_

_"If you don't have anything better to do, can you run them over so that I don't have to come back?" she persisted. "I'll owe you one."_

_"I can, yeah," Michael agreed._

_"Thanks, Mike, I really appreciate it. I really didn't want to call. I was hoping you would answer actually."_

_"Sorry."_

_"No, it's okay." She sighed. "I'll have to talk to him again eventually. I just didn't think eventually would be within the half hour, you know?"_

_"Yeah." Michael looked up at Lincoln's impatient stare. "It's not a problem though, I can do it now." _

_"I didn't want him to come over, you know?"_

_Michael looked pointedly at Lincoln as he said, "I understand, V. I wouldn't want Lincoln to come over either."_

_Lincoln worked his jaw, eyes narrowing._

_"Thanks," she answered. "Really, I mean it. I'm just gonna be in the coffee shop next to my place, okay?"_

_"Yeah, that works." _

_"Bye, thanks."_

_Michael handed the phone back to Lincoln, who put it to his ear and listened to the dial tone for a minute before reaching to hang up the phone. Then he gave Michael a stern look._

_"What?" Michael asked innocently._

_"Oh, don't give me that look. Don't you dare. Like you have no idea."_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"Just minutes ago you pulled your childish bullshit, and now you look at me without a care in world when you **know**, and know **damn well**, that what you're doing is driving me crazy."_

_"What am I doing?"_

_"Both of you. Ridiculous." Lincoln took a deep breath. "Michael, I'm going to bring her the fucking keys myself." He walked a couple steps away, eyes searching the counter top and spotted the keys, moving to pick them up. "This is such a stupid game she's playing."_

_"You can't," Michael objected._

_"I can do what I want. You know she's using you, right? To get to me?"_

_Michael gave him a sullen look. "No, she's not."_

_"Oh? Because directly asking me on the phone to have **you **bring the keys? I'm supposed to just not care about that, when it's a direct attack on me?"_

_Michael shook his head. "She was hoping I would answer the phone."_

_"Well, aren't you the golden child," Lincoln muttered. _

_Michael slid off the counter to his fit and put out his hand. "Don't make it worse, Linc. Just let me bring it. She's locked out."_

_"I want to talk to her."_

_With an earnest look, Michael persisted. "Really, it's not gonna help anything, Linc. Please…. She'll be really upset if you go. And then we're both liars."_

_"Michael. Shut it. I've had enough of you today. And you've barely been home from school a half hour," Lincoln answered. "Not saying a lot. Jumping on me and shit. I don't know what your problem is."_

_"I'm sorry," Michael answered. "I'm sorry I got mad at you. Is that what you want to hear? I'm willing to apologize. Why don't you ever apologize for anything, or admit you're wrong?"_

_"I'll be the first to admit I'm wrong, Michael," Lincoln shot back. "You know, not everyone's so perfect. And you have to learn to take them for what they are."_

_"Linc," Michael objected._

_"Are you sorry for what you flushed down the fucking john?" Lincoln asked, raising his eyebrows._

_"No," Michael admitted. He watched Lincoln's face and then said, "Well, at least I'm honest, Lincoln."_

_"Right."_

_Michael just sighed. "You can't bring the keys, Linc…"_

_"Or what? You'll let me pin you again?"_

_Rolling his eyes, Michael made a face and put out his hands again. "One day I'll beat you."_

_"I doubt it, you nerd," Lincoln answered. "If I have one thing over you it's that I can kick your ass, no matter how big you get."_

_"Can I just have the keys?"_

_Lincoln looked indecisive. He crossed his arms over his chest, keys jingling in his hand. "She really is pissed."_

_Raising his eyebrows, Michael nodded. "No shit." _

_He paused. "She really doesn't want me to go…" he said._

_"No. She doesn't."_

_Lincoln paused._

_"C'mon, Lincoln. Of course not. She just left, so she just needs to think, I guess. I don't know why you'd wanna rush right over."_

_Lincoln studied his brother, who he knew had zero experience with any long-term relationships, but realized he was right. He didn't know why Michael was always right. Michael was really good at figuring people out. Lincoln preferred to act on instinct, and wanted to this time, but realized maybe following Michael's suggestion would be better. _

_"Okay, you can go," Lincoln said. "I guess."_

_"She'll like that better."_

_"You can tell her you flushed the stuff, if that makes a difference," Lincoln started. "Don't tell her I hit you after though, okay?" He unfolded his arms and reached over to take Michael's face in his hand, tilting his chin up. The pinkness from where he'd slapped him earlier had faded. "Sorry. But—"_

_Michael pushed his hand away. "Stop."_

_"Listen, you'd be pissed if you were in my shoes, Michael."_

_"Except I'll never be in your shoes," Michael answered. "You should be teaching me to stay away from drugs, not getting mad at me for—"_

_"This is a conversation for another time, Michael."_

_Michael set his jaw._

_Lincoln eyed him. "You want to fight again? Because if we start this conversation now we're just going to fight. I don't know what's gotten into you."_

_"I don't want to fight…"_

_"Good. Because you killed my knees." Lincoln frowned. He watched Michael put his hand out. "What?"_

_"Keys."_

_"Oh." Lincoln sighed. There was no way Veronica would want to see him right now, and as much as it bothered him to have her being friends with Michael while they were fighting, he knew it was an inevitability. He hesitantly held the keys out to him._

_Michael snatched them before Lincoln could change his mind. _

_"Remember that you'll be telling me everything she says," Lincoln warned him. "So make sure you talk about me."_

_Michael gave him a skeptical look._

_"I **know** I fucked up, Michael. Don't give me that look. You always have that look, okay? Stop."_

_"I'm not doing anything."_

_"Come right home after you leave her place, Mikey. I don't want you out."_

_Michael nodded. "Okay."_

_Lincoln patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks, kiddo."_

_Michael could see the worry in Lincoln's eyes and didn't say anything as he walked away, out of the kitchen. Both of them had a reason to be mad at the other, but he knew they'd get over it. It bothered him in a way that they so easily moved on from things. In one way he was relieved, but on the other hand, they had a hell of a lot of unfinished business and regret between them._

_Before he left he went into their bedroom, stuffing the keys into his pocket as he went for his dresser. He pulled open the top drawer and dug beneath socks to find what he was looking for. Money. He didn't have much. He had about forty dollars there. _

_He took it out and shut the drawer, leaving the room to head back to the kitchen. Lincoln was right where he'd left him, looking deep in thought. Michael walked over and stuffed the money into his hand._

_Lincoln looked at it in surprise and then gave Michael a confused look. "What's this?"_

_Michael shifted uncomfortably. "For… For your stuff. I guess. I don't know how much it costs." _

_Lincoln unfolded the bills and kept his eyes down. "A bit more than that."_

_"Oh." Michael hesitated. "I… I don't have any more. I'm sorry. I mean, I'm **not**, for what it was, but I—"_

_"Michael." Lincoln cut him off, shaking his head. He held the money back out. "I'm not taking your money."_

_"But…" Michael was indecisive. He put his hands behind his back. "You keep it. I want to give it to you."_

_Lincoln pushed the money into Michael's front jeans pocket. "I'm not taking your money," he repeated. "Not for that."_

_Michael made a face. "But you'll have to pay it back."_

_Lincoln studied Michael and suddenly looked sad. "It's not your problem."_

_"But –"_

_"I said, it's not your problem," Lincoln persisted. "Understand me? I'm not mad at you anymore for it. It's gone, period. Okay?"_

_"But I—"_

_"Are you deaf?" Lincoln gave him a push. "I'm not mad about that. Go to Veronica's. She's locked out."_

_Michael gave his brother a quizzical look. "Okay, I guess."_

_"You guess." Lincoln waved him a way. "Go, Mike. You and me are fine. Go talk to Veronica."_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_He spotted Veronica right away, mostly because the coffee shop wasn't very crowded. She was sipping a coffee while reading the paper, sitting by herself at a small table by the window. He walked over and slipped into the chair across from her, dropping the keys on the table._

_She looked up and smiled, putting the coffee down. "Michael, thank you so much… This means a lot."_

_"It's not a problem." He shrugged._

_She gestured at the menu. "You want anything?"_

_He shook his head. "No thanks."_

_"C'mon. It's on me. For you coming over."_

_"Veronica, it's not like you live an hour away." He rolled his eyes. "It's really not a big deal. And I think it's good I got out of the house anyway."_

_"How's Lincoln?"_

_Michael leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. He suddenly felt proud of himself again. "You know that bag of weed he had on the table?"_

_She sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I wish he wouldn't leave that crap out."_

_"I got rid of it."_

_She frowned. "What?"_

_"I took it, dumped it in the toilet, and flushed it."_

_Her eyes widened. "Michael, you didn't."_

_He nodded. "I did. I was pissed at him."_

_"Well, now he's… Does he know?"_

_Michael smirked. "I did it in front of him."_

_She raised her eyebrows. "Michael… And you're still alive?"_

_"I can take care of myself."_

_"You shouldn't have done that, Michael."_

_"Why not?" he replied. "You don't like it anymore than I do that he's been selling."_

_"No, I don't," she agreed. "But you shouldn't get involved either, you know?"_

_"I'm not involved. I'm just trying to stop him."_

_"He was mad, I bet?"_

_Michael shrugged. "Yeah. I was mad too though."_

_"I can't even imagine what he would have done…" she persisted. "That was pretty brave of you."_

_"I told him I would do it again."_

_She just shook his head. "I'm impressed, Mike. I have to tell you… Very impressive."_

_"Well, I don't want him to do it anymore."_

_"I don't either."_

_"I don't want him to get arrested again."_

_"I don't either."_

_Michael leaned his chair back on its legs. "I think he's still kind of mad though. So I shouldn't do anything for a while…" He gave her a wry smile. "Like, push my luck."_

_"I think he needs to remember you're a little more important than a bag of weed, Michael," Veronica answered. "Lincoln has a lot of growing up to do. You're much more mature than him in a lot of ways."_

_"I'm glad I'm much more something."_

_She gave him a look. "Michael, don't compare yourselves. He's the way he is for a lot of reasons, and I'll admit that, but that's becoming a huge cop out. And you can't compare any of it."_

_"What kind of reasons?"_

_"You know. Situations." She shrugged. "We all are born into situations, and it makes us who we are. Can't help which one you get."_

_"Does he say it's because of me?"_

_"Michael. Never. That's not what I meant. That's not what I meant at all."_

_"Has he ever?"_

_"No, Michael," she said insistently. "Don't ever think that."_

_"But he dropped out to take care of me. That was the situation."_

_"No… It's not like that. Not everyone has the same path, Mike," she answered. "He didn't have the same brains as you either, you know. That's why you stay in school, so you can go to college and get a good job."_

_"We can't really afford that anyway." He rolled his eyes. "So there's your situation…" _

_She rolled her eyes. "Oh, you'll go… Lincoln won't have it otherwise, Michael." _

_"We definitely can't afford it if I flush anymore weed." Michael laughed._

_She just shook her head and picked up her coffee again. "Lincoln is… very interesting, Michael… Very interesting."_

_"Were you mad about that bag? Because I got rid of it."_

_"It's an assortment of things, Mike."_

_"Are you still mad at him?"_

_She took a sip of her coffee and paused. "It's different. It's not just being mad."_

_"But you are?"_

_"It's different," she repeated. "It's hard to explain how I feel."_

_"I told him to apologize. On the phone. But he didn't listen to me. He never does."_

_"He hasn't apologized," she agreed. "He probably thinks I should apologize. That's how his mind works."_

_"I'll try and get him to. If you want."_

_"Michael, give you brother a little space," she responded with a smile. "And it doesn't mean anything if he simply apologizes for the sake of thinking he has to."_

_"But you two need to—"_

_"We don't need to anything," she said. "It'll sort itself out, if it wants to. Everything happens for a reason. It's the same thing, like I was saying. Situation."_

_He made a face. "Not with Lincoln. You either fuck up or you don't, and he fucked up."_

_"Is that what he taught you?"_

_He shrugged. "That's just how he thinks."_

_She sighed. "He needs to clear his head. Once he does that and we can have a real conversation, then I can answer the questions in my head. It's gonna be a muli-step process."_

_"He's gonna be really annoying without you around," he pointed out. "Just so that you know."_

_"Michael." She rolled her eyes. "You'll be fine. You two are so dysfunctional."_

_"You should have seen us before," he answered sarcastically. _

_"I don't even want to know."_

_"Maybe he'll have chilled out while I'm gone," he persisted. "Or he's taking apart the pipes looking for remnants of his precious stash, and that's why he finally let me leave."_

_"That would be… kind of funny." She paused. "And extremely pathetic. You know, it's amazing how different you two are. And I still can't believe what you did."_

_"Neither can he." Michael laughed._

_"He's so confused. But he does so much… so much shit. Meanwhile he's so strict with you." She shook her head. "He needs to follow his own advice." She took another sip of her coffee. "You know, I need to stop worrying about him for a while. That's what I need."_

_"Yeah, I guess…" _

_"Michael, we've broken up before, you know. It's not like this is a huge surprise. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in saying that we both saw it coming this time."_

_"It just…" Michael shrugged. "You're going back to school soon… And he's miserable enough when you do that. And now…"_

_"It's not your problem," she answered. She said it gently, like she was trying to make him feel better, but Michael couldn't help but think of how Lincoln had just said the same thing to him when he was trying to help. He felt bizarrely alienated._

_"You have to stop feeling guilty over things," she persisted. "You read too much into what happens, Michael. Things that you have no control over. Doesn't Lincoln tell you that? Tell you to stop feeling guilty? He should. He doesn't like it when you do this either."_

_Michael just stared at the table._

_With no answer from Michael, she looked at her watch. "Do you want to stay over for dinner?"_

_"No, Lincoln wants me home," Michael said in monotone._

_"Okay. I don't know what we have to cook anyway." She laughed. "I might have just been offering like a sandwich or something. We really need to go food shopping." She took another sip of her coffee. "Thanks again, Mike, for coming out here."_

_He nodded. "It's fine." He paused and watched her for a minute. Then he said, "Lincoln's going to ask me what you said, you know. Like, about him and stuff. Is there anything I should say?"_

_She looked at him for a moment, slightly surprised, and then thought about it. "Tell him," she started slowly. "Just tell him his name never came up."_

_He smirked. "Wow. He'll hate that."_

_She smiled. "I know."_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	8. Chapter 8

_**I want to thank those of you who have left thoughtful comments. In particular I'd like to thank ChaiGrl and thinkingJM who have consistently given me extremely kind and constructive reviews.  
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_**Chapter 8

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Michael couldn't believe they were still painting. The same room. It felt like PI had been painting this same room the same ugly color for years. He didn't know how many coats of paint they thought were really necessary. It was a mindless job, and that drove him crazy. Methodical was not relaxing. It was infuriating. He needed more.

He set his mind outside the painting, focusing on the others in the room. The other inmates. And his brother.

"What's wrong, Lincoln?" he asked in monotone, painting slowly as he looked over at his brother's solemn face. Lincoln always looked solemn but this time it was something else. For the last five minutes that they had been painting, he could feel the mood radiating off his brother.

"Nothing." It was the expected response.

Michael took a deep breath and continued to paint. He then immediately regretted the deep breath when he took in a big whiff of the paint odor. It was nauseating. He couldn't wait to get outside, but he knew he would smell paint for hours. After a moment, Michael tried again.

"Lincoln," he persisted. "What's wrong?"

Lincoln looked over at him. "My answer isn't going to change in a few seconds, Michael. Nothing."

"Well… You saw Veronica today."

"How do you know that?"

"I see all. I know everything. Like a fly on the wall."

Lincoln rolled his eyes and looked at the paint on his fingers. There was some beneath his nails. "Spare me, Michael."

"What did she say?"

Lincoln thought back on his visit with Veronica, feeling anxiousness over how much work she was doing for him. Potentially dangerous work. Both her and Michael. And he felt crazy over how much he realized he missed her. "She believes me now."

Michael pressed his lips together, nodding. Then he replied, "Yeah. Of course she does."

"Well, last time I saw her, she was thinking I was a liar. Telling me to make you call it off. I thought I would never see her again."

"Call it off… She doesn't know what I'm doing."

"Like I told you before, she can guess you're up to something. She sees right through you. She sees right through me, too. She always has."

"If she saw right through you, she wouldn't have thought you were lying in the beginning," Michael pointed out.

Lincoln was quiet. He shrugged, hating how Michael was right, and wanting to argue or defend someone, either himself or Veronica, but deciding it wasn't worth it. Before he could respond either way, Michael continued.

"Actually, she didn't think you were lying in the beginning… More than the fact she couldn't figure out why all the evidence pointed to you. I mean, I know how she feels. I went through all of the evidence too. And anyone she talks to, I bet I talked to them too. We both followed the same trail."

"You didn't believe me in the beginning either," Lincoln replied. He wasn't asking. He knew. He knew exactly from the way that Michael had stared at him, the way he had talked to him, the way he wouldn't listen. Not until he was able to get over the initial shock and deception. Lincoln could never relive that kind of agony. It was just as bad as knowing you were going to have to die, losing your little brother and your old girlfriend's trust and respect.

As if it wasn't bad enough he'd let them down for months before that. Who knew how long, really. And he still felt like he hadn't adequately explained to them how he felt about them. Or how sorry he was.

"I…" Michael wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. Lincoln noticed a flash of regret in his blue eyes, like he thought he should try to explain himself, but it wasn't worth it to try to make an excuse. Lincoln saw through his lies just like Veronica did. Probably better.

"I don't blame you," Lincoln said, before Michael had to try to defend himself. "I wasn't exactly giving you a good reason to respect me or what I said."

"Whatever."

"Whatever," Lincoln echoed. It was evident Michael did not want to get into this conversation, and in a way Lincoln was relieved, because although he wanted to have it, he also didn't have the words for it right now. And pushing Michael wouldn't be worth it. They would have this talk eventually. "Well, both of you believe me now. That's all that matters."

"Then what else is the matter?"

Lincoln sighed. This again. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, if you're relieved about Veronica… Talking to you and believing you, not to mention the fact she came to see you… Then it's something else…" Michael persisted.

"What's something else?"

Michael gave him a look. "I can _tell_. So don't pretend to me like nothing's the matter, Lincoln. We don't have time for that now, and I can't read your mind."

Lincoln smirked. "Okay, little brother. I appreciate the concern, but—"

"Bullshit, Lincoln." Michael gave him a look. Lincoln's expression, amusement at Michael's concern, was infuriating. "Come on."

"Nothing is the matter, Michael."

Michael raised his eyebrows and then just shrugged, turning back to painting. Up and down, studying how the dried parts looked like a different shade of color than the wet parts, completely mismatched. He felt completely mismatched himself. A moment of silence passed between him and his brother. He could pick up little bits of conversation around the room from other PI inmates.

Finally Lincoln spoke.

"I've been having dreams."

Michael looked up at Lincoln's voice, surprised he was continuing the conversation. "Dreams about what?" he asked ingenuously, hoping Lincoln would keep talking.

"About what's going to happen," Lincoln admitted.

Michael nodded, trying to understand. "Escaping."

"No, Michael."

The way Lincoln said it sent a chill through Michael despite how warm he'd felt in the issued coveralls. He didn't answer.

"I've been having dreams," Lincoln continued. "Nightmares. Where I wake up and it's time, and I'm dragged down to the hall to the room, and I'm strapped to the chair. Without seeing anybody, without saying good bye to anybody, without anything… I wake up as soon as they pull down the hood and throw the switch." Lincoln shook his head, staring at his paint roller. "And I've never been so scared in my life as during that dream."

Michael paused, remembering when he used to think Lincoln wasn't scared of anything. Of course, he'd never have imagined this kind of situation. He also wasn't sure how to respond. The only thing he could think of was when he had nightmares a kid, and Lincoln so easily made him feel better. Except those nightmares didn't really compare to the electric chair.

Michael didn't want to tell Lincoln that he'd had his own nightmares about electric chairs. It wasn't like he hadn't done plenty of research before taking on his own plan. And research gave him plenty of reason to be scared. And plenty of reasons to make sure that his plan to get Lincoln out of Fox River wouldn't fail.

He knew plenty about the electric chair.

Like in 1990 when blood streamed out of a Virginia condemned man's mask during the execution. Or like the following year in Virginia when extra jolts were needed by an inmate after he survived the first round of electrocution.

In Florida there was the infamous case of Pedro Medina in 1997 where malfunctions caused sparks and flames to shoot out of his head while witnesses smelled burning flesh. The same thing happened in 1990 in Florida when a condemned killer required three jolts of electricity to kill him and the cellulose sponge in his helmet caught fire.

In 1983 John Louis Evans took fourteen minutes to die in the chair while bystanders later reported that the "stench of burning flesh was nauseating". Michael had read frequently that physicians routinely admitted that electrocutions were often necessarily repeated in order to ensure death.

"Michael."

Michael blinked and looked up at Lincoln, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Looking at his brother's face now, he felt cold. "Oh. Sorry. I…"

"Look, it's nothing. So—"

"It's not nothing," Michael objected. He wondered if Lincoln knew as much about the chair as he did. About the rare but possible malfunctions. He would never mention them to him. Never. "Are you having them a lot?"

Lincoln nodded. "For most of this week. I mean, it's just something… as it gets closer, and I just start to think about it more. When they're constantly asking me things, who I want there, and… It's hard not to think about."

Michael set his jaw. "Well, dream about us getting out instead. Because that's what's actually going to happen."

"I don't know which one of us is more pragmatic, Michael… It seems to shift," Lincoln replied wryly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Lincoln shook his head, dipping a roller back into the tray of paint.

"Haywire doesn't sleep," Michael said. He thought for a moment and then slowly got out the words he was thinking. "A neuroanatomic lesion affecting his reticular activating system."

Lincoln frowned at him. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Means he doesn't sleep."

"That's bullshit. Everyone sleeps."

Michael shook his head. "If he does, I don't know when."

"Michael, don't be naïve. Everyone sleeps."

"Well…" Michael couldn't argue with that. "Then if he does he barely does. He's awake all the time. And he stares."

"Stares?"

"At the tattoos…" Michael said slowly, his expression showed his disturbance at that thought.

"Your tattoos?" Lincoln chuckled. "Well they are quite a sight, Michael… I never thought of you with tattoos…" He refrained from telling him that he didn't like them, because he knew he had to look beyond the tattoos, at what they stood for. It was hard for him to see what Michael saw in them.

"No, he doesn't just look at them like that. He… It's more he's completely intrigued. He wants to see them all. He's trying to guess what it is…"

"But you can't see what it is. I can barely see what it is. In fact, I don't. You're the one that knows."

"I don't know. I just don't want him to see it at all."

Lincoln nodded. "Then don't let him."

"It's unnerving. The way he…" Michael shook his head. "Forget it. I'm sorry I changed the subject. Did you want to talk about your dream?"

"What's there to talk about?" Lincoln answered. "Not much there to analyze. Just a nightmare."

"Not just like any other nightmare…"

"Perhaps not your typical nightmare," Lincoln agreed. "But people dream about things coming up. Things that they're nervous about."

Michael wanted to talk about it, and find out exactly how his brother felt, but he felt like there wasn't much of a way to go about it. It felt awkward just trying to think of a way to approach the conversation. Lincoln had never been one for sharing his feelings. After a fight or a bad day, he just slammed enough things around the house and spoke so monosyllabically, that Michael just knew. He usually gathered what happened over the course of the day, but it was never outright told to him unless it was serious enough. Lincoln wasn't very eloquent when it came to his personal feelings.

"Linc…" Michael started. He didn't know where he was going from there.

"Don't worry about it, Michael. Dreams are dreams. They're not real."

Michael nodded. He opened his mouth to make a sarcastic reply and then shut it again. But Lincoln caught the attempt.

"What?" he said. "Say it."

"Nothing."

"Say it, Michael."

Michael had a coy expression. "Well, I was just gonna say that you should have told that to Martin Luther King. That dreams aren't real."

Lincoln shook his head. "Smartass." But there was a smirk on his face.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Michael was eleven when Lincoln found out Lisa Rix was pregnant. It was a Saturday afternoon and he was watching TV, bored because it was raining outside and lonely Lincoln hadn't been home in a couple of hours. Lincoln came home right when the credits to the cartoon started to roll, slamming the door and mumbling to himself._

_"Hi, Lincoln!" Michael greeted, jumping to his feet to greet his brother._

_Lincoln glanced at his brother tiredly. Michael reminded him of an overjoyed puppy happy to see the return of his owner. Lincoln tossed an umbrella into the corner and turned to lock the door behind him._

_"What's up, Lincoln?" Michael persisted when Lincoln didn't answer him the first time. Instead, Lincoln had simply walked towards the kitchen, barely acknowledging him with a glance. _

_"Today is…" Lincoln shook his head. "Today is quite the day… That's what's up." _

_"Why?" Michael followed him into the kitchen and watched Lincoln take a beer out of the refrigerator. He didn't care if Lincoln drank, even though he was almost but not quite yet legally able to. It just bothered him when Lincoln drank a lot, or this early in the day. That usually meant that something was wrong. "Lincoln, isn't it kind of early for drinking?"_

_Lincoln just eyed him warily as he snapped open the can and took a long sip. "Not for today."_

_"Why?" _

_Lincoln leaned against the counter and took another sip of beer. He studied his brother and tried to decide how to tell him his news. Should he pretend it was good news? Should he pretend it was bad news? Lincoln himself wasn't sure how to take it. He didn't know whether to use this as a life learning lesson and lecture Michael on the importance of protection, or to just tell him excitedly. Lincoln was partly excited, but mostly horrified, because he could barely afford to take care of himself and Michael, never mind another baby. _

_"What's going on?" Michael persisted, giving Lincoln a quizzical look._

_"Lisa found out she's pregnant."_

_Michael's eyed widened a bit. "You mean… You're having a baby?"_

_Lincoln nodded. "Yeah. It's a little unexpected."_

_Michael made a face. "How'd it happen?"_

_Lincoln stared at him in pure exasperation. "Michael, don't ask me that, you idiot. You know how it happens."_

_"Not that part. I mean…" _

_"Then what do you want me to say?" _

_"I thought you broke up with her."_

_Lincoln slowly nodded. He wasn't sure how to reply to that. He'd learned two very important things from this experience. That, one, make-up sex was absolutely wonderful, and, two, it was also extremely risky when combined with alcohol and no common sense. They'd broken up again soon after that, and now this was the first he'd heard from her since the whole ordeal. "That's kind of what happened. Broke up, but now… I don't know what's going to happen."_

_"Can you have a girl? I kind of want a sister."_

_Lincoln sighed as he took another long sip of beer. "Michael, it's not going to be your sister or brother. It's going to be your niece or nephew. Use your head."_

_Michael made a face. "Oh, right. Still, a girl would be cool."_

_"We'll find out in a few months, I guess. If she keeps it."_

_"What's that mean? How do you not keep it?"_

_Lincoln paused and realized he was digging his own grave. Going to see Lisa after she'd called this morning had first resulted in a big conversation and then an argument that consisted mostly of going back and forth between just a few points of view. It started when Lincoln asked her if it was really his, which got her extremely riled up. They shifted back and forth from how stupid they were, and how much babies cost, to finally whether abortion was ever an option. The latter became a very touchy subject._

_Lincoln couldn't talk about it. "Means nothing, Mike."_

_"How do you not keep it?"_

_"We keep it."_

_"Babies are cool, Lincoln."_

_"Yeah, real cool," Lincoln responded sarcastically. "Real expensive, too."_

_"Does that mean you're gonna marry her?" Michael made a face that expressed how unfavorable that idea seemed to him. _

_"No." Lincoln shook his head. He could understand how in many cases, hearing someone was going to have your kid would be a huge influence to stay with them and marry them, but in this case… They both knew that would never work. "Lisa and I are not the marrying type. Not with each other anyway. And not at our age."_

_"Oh." Michael shrugged. "Are you going to do what Dad did then?"_

_Lincoln felt his stomach turn and realized he wasn't handling this well at all. Michael was going to think that all men just ran out on the mothers of their children and left them to raise them. Of course, he knew Michael was smarter than that to make such generalizations, but it regardless wasn't a very good way to start a conversation._

_"Don't ever ask me that," Lincoln said stiffly. "I never said I was going to disappear, or not help out with the baby. I just said that we're not going to get married. And that's not just my decision. It's both ours."_

_"What's the difference?"_

_Lincoln shook his head. "Don't be stupid, Michael." _

_"I don't really like Lisa," Michael admitted. "She's okay. But I like Veronica better. She's nicer. Lisa's just really blonde. Do you like blondes, Lincoln? That other girl was blonde too. Teri?"_

_Lincoln shook his head, realizing that he wasn't prepared for this conversation with an eleven year old. He was annoyed at himself and not sure how to talk about any of it, despite the fact he wanted to. He couldn't believe Lisa was actually pregnant. So he instead decided to change the subject. _

_"Did you eat lunch yet?" He saw Michael shake his head. "What do you feel like?"_

_"McDonald's," Michael answered._

_"Does this look like McDonald's?" Lincoln nodded his head towards the refrigerator._

_"No," Michael said. "I meant we could go." _

_"No. What do you want that we have?"_

_Michael just sulked. "I only want French fries."_

_"Grow up, Michael." Lincoln drank some more beer before putting the can on the counter to look into the fridge again. "We have leftover pasta."_

_"No." _

_"We have turkey. Want a sandwich?"_

_"No." _

_"Grilled cheese?"_

_"No."_

_Lincoln turned around. "Are you going to say no to everything that I offer you?" He saw Michael's impish smirk and sighed. "You ungrateful brat."_

_"I want French fries."_

_"I told you, no. I want to drink beer, sit on the couch with my feet up, and watch TV while I eat. I can't do that at McDonald's."_

_Michael made a face. "But I want French fries. I don't see why we get what you want."_

_"Because we vote. And my vote is worth more because I'm older than you." _

_"That's not how democracy works."_

_Lincoln felt the cold air from the refrigerator's open door. "It is under this roof. Now c'mon. Tell me what you want. And if you say French fries again, you're getting a slap."_

_"Whatever, then." Michael shrugged, slumping down into a seat at the kitchen table. _

_"Stop moping, Michael. You have nothing to mope about. I do. I've got a kid on the way now, and an ex-girlfriend carrying it." Lincoln pushed the refrigerator door shut. "How do you think I feel? So what you don't get your fucking French fries. I don't get a choice in my life about anything at all."_

_Michael ignored Lincoln's cynicism. "When's the baby due?"_

_"Six months."_

_"Why'd you find out today?"_

_"She didn't want to tell me yet because we hadn't really been talking. She finally cracked." Lincoln sighed. "Let me tell you though, this was in no way the plan."_

_"Is this going to change things for us?"_

_Lincoln looked at Michael's concerned face and shook his head. "No, kiddo. I mean, yes, things will be different in six months, because I want to take care of the baby as much as I can too, and that obviously adds a different twist. But things always change anyway."_

_"Are you happy about it?"_

_Lincoln paused. "Well, sure… I always wanted to have a kid... It's just… It's just a little earlier than I would have wanted it…" And not the woman I wanted it with, he thought slowly. He didn't know how to explain to Michael that becoming a high school drop out raising his kid brother and soon a baby on minimum wage was never a dream of his. He didn't want Michael to worry anymore than he already unnecessarily did. Michael had the tendency to react a lot more in situations than Lincoln, so Lincoln had to remind himself not to exaggerate the stress of the situation. "I mean, no one usually purposefully has a kid in my situation."_

_"So are you going to tell the baby it was a mistake?"_

_"It's not a mistake."_

_"But you just said—"_

_"It's not." Lincoln didn't care what he'd just said. All he knew was that saying someone was a mistake sounded absolutely terrible. "What do you want to eat, Michael? For real."_

_"McDon—"_

_"I'm not in the mood, Michael." Lincoln gave him a warning look. "Not funny anymore, okay? Stop."_

_"Pizza." _

_"Okay. We could order pizza," Lincoln consented. Pizza went well with beer. He went to the drawer to pull out old menus to find a number before Michael could change his mind. "I was thinking of inviting Veronica over to talk. You mind?" She was the only one Lincoln could think of that he could have a serious conversation with as a best friend. He needed somebody to talk to about all of this. _

_"No."_

_"Okay, good…" Lincoln pulled out a menu and looked at the number. "Okay… Toppings?"_

_"Cheese."_

_"That's a given, dumbass."_

_"Extra cheese." _

_"Pepperoni?" Lincoln asked._

_"French fries."_

_Lincoln laughed. "Kid…"_

_"Fine. I guess pepperoni is okay..."_

_Lincoln ordered the pizza and then disconnected to immediately call Veronica. She answered on the fourth ring._

_"Hey," Lincoln greeted. "It's Linc. Mike and I are getting pizza. Want to come over?"_

_"I was just making a sandwich," she replied._

_"Well, stop making it then," he laughed. "Come on over."_

_"Okay… Is something up?"_

_"No. Well, yes. I kind of just want to talk to you about something. I need some advice."_

_"Advice," she echoed. She sighed. "God, Lincoln. What'd you do this time?"_

_"Nothing."_

_"Nothing… Well, then what'd Michael do?"_

_"Nothing!" he insisted. "Just come over and I'll fill you in." _

_"I must say, you have me curious…" she admitted. "Okay, fine. I'll be over in a little while."_

_"Thanks, V. I mean it." _

_"Tell her to bring me fries from McDonald's," Michael called over. He caught Lincoln's glare and rolled his eyes, sliding out of his chair to go to the refrigerator for a can of soda. "It's on the way, Linc."_

_"What's Michael want?" Veronica asked over the phone. _

_"Nothing," Lincoln answered with a sigh. "I'll see you in a little bit. Bye, V." _

_"Why didn't you ask her?" Michael opened a can of Coke and gave Lincoln a glare back._

_"Because."_

_"Are you going to ask her what to do about the baby?"_

_"No, I'm going to ask her if she knows anybody that wants to adopt you when the baby comes." Lincoln meant it as a joke but immediately regretted it when he saw the look that crossed Michael's face. It was a mixture of hurt and confusion for a moment, and then it turned into anger._

_"Fuck you, Lincoln," Michael responded as he stalked out of the kitchen._

_"Michael," Lincoln objected. But Michael was already gone. Lincoln mentally kicked himself. He picked up the phone again and dialed Veronica back. When she answered after just two rings this time, he said, "Hey, it's me again."_

_"Hello again…" _

_"Can you do me a huge favor?"_

_"You're asking for a lot today, Linc," she teased. "Fine, what is it?"_

_"Can you pick up French fries for me at Mickey D's on your way over?"_

_"I thought you were getting pizza…"_

_"We are. Long story. Just if on your way you could, that would be great, V."_

_"Sure," she replied, sounding slightly confused. "No problem. Anything else?"_

_"Nope."_

_"Okay, I'm leaving in a second." _

_"Thanks. See you in a little bit."_

_"Bye, Lincoln." _

_Lincoln hung up the phone and then finished his beer quickly before he headed out of the kitchen. Michael was on the couch, legs pulled up beneath him. As soon as he saw Lincoln approaching he picked up the controller and put the TV louder._

_Lincoln glanced at the TV and sighed, moving to sit beside Michael on the couch. "You can't be mad at me for that one little comment, Michael."_

_Michael said nothing._

_"Veronica's coming over." Lincoln sighed. Michael already knew that. And even if he liked her, having her come over wouldn't get him out of his mood just like that. "Michael. You listening?" _

_Michael gripped his Coke can tightly in his hand, jaw set. He was irritated with Lincoln. Even if he knew that his brother had meant it as a joke, it still hurt. Especially because Lincoln complained often enough about him, or things that were seemingly connected to him, whether it be the bills, or not being in school, or working in general. Michael was always worried that his brother felt like he was a burden, and while he was always thankful that it was Lincoln taking care of him, and not some random family member that they rarely saw, Lincoln also wasn't the easiest person to deal with._

_"Michael," Lincoln persisted._

_Michael waited, pressing his lips together. It things went as usual, Lincoln would go from feeling bad and babying him, to then feeling frustrated enough in not getting an answer that he would wind up getting mad at Michael, like the whole thing had been his fault from the beginning. _

_"I didn't mean it. And you know that, Michael. I know you can take my teasing." Lincoln hated the silent treatment. There was nothing more infuriating than someone not acknowledging your intentions. "Fuck, I'm sorry I said it. I didn't know it would get you this upset."_

_Michael said nothing. _

_"Answer me when I'm talking to you," Lincoln persisted. He put a hand on Michael's leg and Michael pushed him away._

_"Don't touch me," Michael said sharply. _

_"Mike…" Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Come on."_

_"NO." Michael put his soda down on the end table and got up to walk away, but Lincoln caught his arm and pulled him back, pulling him down into his lap. "Lincoln," Michael protested in exasperation._

_"There you go, I knew you'd talk to me," Lincoln persisted, wrapping his arm tightly around Michael's waist as he tried to pull away. He pulled him close and wondered how he would deal with Michael when he got too big to physically control. It was a cop-out for him now, using his strength when he couldn't get him to talk to him on his own merit, but he didn't know what else to do._

_Michael sighed and tried to pull Lincoln's arm off of him, but realized it wouldn't be worth it. So he just sat there, more angry than before, and waited._

_"You want me to keep telling you I didn't mean it?" Lincoln asked. "Today's already been stressful, Mike, so just give me a break. I'm sorry I said it, and I definitely didn't mean it, so just chill, man."_

_"Then why did you say it?" Michael answered. "If you didn't mean it?"_

_"Why do I say anything?" Lincoln sighed. "Michael, I was teasing you."_

_"But you kinda meant it."_

_"No, Michael. And if I meant it, I wouldn't wait for a new baby to get rid of you," Lincoln said, joking again, but then quickly catching himself. "You know I would never feel like that. There's nothing you could do that would make feel like that."_

_"Whatever…" _

_"You say things you don't mean."_

_"Like what…?"_

_"You said you were going to run away once. You never did."_

_"You'd've liked that though, huh."_

_"Michael." Lincoln rolled his eyes. "How long are you going to put me through this...? I shouldn't even have to tell you. You know I don't think that."_

_At that point Michael realized he couldn't recall his brother ever simply telling him that he loved him. Michael realized he couldn't recall anyone saying that to him. He was sure his mother had said it to him, it seemed like something she would say, but he couldn't specifically remember and that saddened him. He figured his brother loved him; he usually stood up for him or gave him the occasional pat on the head or back like he was approving. He just never said it. Michael suddenly missed his mother. He told Lincoln that. _

_"Yeah…" Lincoln agreed, voice softening a bit, and also holding a little surprise. They rarely talked about it, and he never knew what to say. It wasn't like they could bring her back. He pulled Michael closer to his chest. "I know. Me too. She'd be so pissed at me right now though. With you, and with Lisa, and school…" He shrugged. "I don't know. Of course, if she were here none of that would've happened probably." He suddenly began to feel guilty._

_"She wouldn't want to get rid of me…" Michael murmured._

_"And neither do I…" Lincoln sighed, growing irritated. Michael was heavy on his lap and he tried to shift his weight over while keeping a tight hold. "What makes you think I meant that, Michael?"_

_Michael shrugged. _

_"Because unless I've given you some good reason to think that, then stop bringing it up. I didn't mean it."_

_"Let me up…" Michael arched his back, trying to slide out of Lincoln's grip. _

_"Fine." Lincoln pushed him up grumpily. "Get me my wallet, will you?" He suddenly wasn't even hungry anymore. With knowing about the new baby, and having Michael now upset, and thinking about how his job wasn't going to support them like he wanted, and now the thoughts of what his mother would think about how he was handling them… _

_"Say please," Michael answered._

_"Please, you fucker," Lincoln muttered back. "It's on the dresser." _

_Veronica showed up just a few minutes before the pizza, and Lincoln answered the door at her knock, ready with money in his hand but relieved to see it was Veronica._

_"So what's this big news or whatever?" she asked, giving her best friend a critical look as he stuffed the money back into his pocket and shut the door behind them. She held a small McDonald's bag in her hands. "You sounded weird on the phone." She glanced in at Michael curled up on the couch in front of the TV and gave him a wave._

_"Want a beer?" Lincoln asked._

_"It's kind of early…"_

_"It's Saturday and it's past noon." Lincoln rolled his eyes. "What are you worried about?"_

_"Nothing." She shook her head. "Fine." She walked over to the couch to put the bag on the end table to sit down beside Michael as Lincoln headed towards the kitchen. Michael looked tired, head resting on his hand as he leaned against the arm of the chair. "How are you doing, Mike?" she asked. _

_"Good," he said, sitting up straighter. He gave her a solemn look. "Lincoln wants to get rid of me."_

_"What?" She frowned at him. "Why would you say that?"_

_"He told me," Michael said. "He told me he did, now that there's a new baby."_

_"What new baby?" Veronica asked._

_"His new baby," Michael answered. He knew Lincoln hadn't told her yet, and he got a little bit of satisfaction out of the awkwardness he knew he was about to cause. _

_"What?" Veronica had a shocked look on her face. She looked up with a deep frown as Lincoln walked back into the room and caught his eye as he handed her a beer. "Lincoln…" she began, holding the cold beer hesitantly._

_"Why are you giving me that look…?" Lincoln asked slowly, cautiously. Something had happened while he was in the kitchen. _

_"What's this about a baby, Lincoln?" Veronica asked with a raised eyebrow._

_Lincoln paused, taken off guard. He immediately turned his eyes to Michael, who was now just back to watching TV, an innocent look on his face. "Michael," he snapped. _

_"Why didn't you tell me on the phone?" Veronica persisted. "Whose is it?"_

_"Veronica…" _

_"It's Lisa's," Michael answered._

_"Listen, Michael," Lincoln persisted, moving forward to grab Michael by his t-shirt, nearly pulling him up from the couch. "You want to let me have a conversation here?"_

_"Leave him out of it." Veronica took Lincoln's wrist._

_There was another knock at the door and Lincoln let go of his brother, pulling the money back out from his pocket. Michael straightened his shirt and slouched down on the couch. He watched Lincoln open the door and get the pizza, handing money to the teenage delivering boy. _

_"Is this what you needed advice on?" Veronica persisted once Lincoln had shut the door. "What do I know about what to do with an unexpected pregnancy, Lincoln?" _

_Lincoln sighed as he dropped the pizza box on the coffee table. "I don't know, V. I just wanted to talk to you about it. As a friend…" He gave her an uncertain look. He really liked Veronica, and their friendship had only a few times breeched the next level, and he suddenly realized that this kind of mistake could also jeopardize his relationship with her. He started to add another worry to his list. _

_"Well, don't get mad at Michael about it," she answered. "You could have told me over the phone."_

_"Why do you sound angry?" This wasn't what he'd planned. _

_"Because, Lincoln. I asked you on the phone what it was about. And you acted like it was nothing. You could have at least said something. I don't like coming over here clueless and then you dropping something like this on me. What am I supposed to say?"_

_"I didn't drop it on you. Michael did." _

_"You would've. And for God's sake, Lincoln, don't blame an eleven year old for your lack of tact. Grow up a little. And why would you tell Michael that you wanted to get rid of him?"_

_Lincoln threw his hands up in exasperation. "For fuck's sake… This is so out of context."_

_"I don't see **any **context explaining that."_

_"See what you're doing?" Lincoln raised his eyebrows at Michael. "Huh, tough guy? This what you want?"_

_"I didn't do anything," Michael objected. _

_"Go get some plates, Michael," Lincoln directed._

_"No."_

_"**Please** go get some plates," Lincoln reiterated stiffly. _

_"**No**." Michael said it more firmly. _

_Lincoln noticed the small McDonald's bag on the end table and reached over to grab it, holding it in front of Michael's face. "Look what I got you. Fuck, Michael, I'm trying to work with you here." He tossed it into his lap. "Here's your fucking French fries. Can't you ever give me a break? Today is confusing, alright?"_

_"I don't want them anymore." Michael pushed the bag away and it fell to the floor._

_"I'll get the plates," Veronica sighed, pushing herself off the couch. She realized she should have expected some kind of World War III situation with the tone that Lincoln had on the phone. The tone that had obviously been hiding something. She had no idea it was hiding all of this though. _

_Lincoln watched Veronica leave before he could object and turned back to Michael. "Listen, kid, are you trying to get Veronica to hate me?" He bent down to pick up the McDonald's bag, and put it down roughly next to the pizza box. "I got you your French fries, see?"_

_"So you can bribe me," Michael replied aptly. _

_"No," Lincoln objected, but it was true. Michael was too smart for him to use any kind of psychology._

_"I don't want your bribe," Michael answered quietly. In truth, he really did. He was starving, and whether it be pizza or his beloved French fries, he didn't care. He was slightly impressed that Lincoln had managed to get the fries, but didn't want to mention it. He wasn't ready yet to have a truce._

_"It's not a bribe," Lincoln persisted. "I was trying to do something nice. But if you're going to be a pain in the ass, you can just eat in your room." He watched his brother's flushed, sulking face carefully, wishing he could erase the last hour from his life. "Michael, be good. Come on."_

_"Stop talking to me." Michael looked up at him, blue eyes hard like ice. "Go explain your fucking problem to Veronica."_

_"Michael." Lincoln leaned in close to him and slapped his thigh sharply. "Get over it." _

_"Stop talking to me."_

_"The news today was unexpected," Lincoln said stiffly. "You need to understand where I'm coming from, okay? You can't imagine what this is like. And I want Veronica on my side for this, but that's going to be damn near impossible. Especially if you're twisting my words too."_

_Michael was silent again. He raised his foot and pushed Lincoln away by his leg. _

_Lincoln pressed his lips together tightly. He stared back at Michael for a moment and then escaped to the kitchen, finding Veronica about to come back with the plates. _

_"Let's talk," he said._

_"We will," she answered. "Let's eat first."_

_"Listen," Lincoln started softly, taking the plates from her. "Michael's in a mood, but I never said that I didn't want him… I never would say that… You know how much I need him…"_

_"But what **did** you say?" she asked patiently. "He doesn't get mad without a reason."_

_Lincoln rolled his eyes, feeling suddenly inadequate. As a friend, as a brother, as a guardian, as a boyfriend. Could he do anything right? "I was teasing him…" he admitted. "And made a joke about putting him up for adoption when the baby came."_

_"You're sick, you know that?"_

_"Oh, V. It's a fucking joke. He's a big boy."_

_"He's more sensitive than you, Lincoln," she shot back. "Remember? Not everyone had a big concrete block in their chest instead of a heart."_

_"Are you trying to insult me?" he asked, blocking her exit from the kitchen as she started to move past him. "Wait. Don't side with him. Listen to me."_

_"I'm not siding with anybody. I'm just thinking his mood right now is understandable."_

_"I've got his back, V. He knows it was a joke."_

_Veronica shook her head and then suddenly spoke up. "How could you get Lisa pregnant, Lincoln? How could you do that?" she asked. "Where is she right now?"_

_"Right now?"_

_"I mean, she's carrying your child now. Where is she in this picture? Why isn't she over here? Shouldn't you be talking to her?"_

_"Is this what you're mad about? I'm sorry, Veronica. You think I meant to get her knocked up?" Lincoln insisted earnestly. "You think that's my big plan, to have a family with her? I've got my hands full with me and Michael. I would never want to add any more to our plate."_

_"It's hard to believe you," she answered. "When there are so many ways you could have avoided it."_

_"I would have if I was smart," Lincoln answered. "In hindsight it's so much easier to judge and avoid all of this, Veronica. I agree with you a hundred percent."_

_Veronica looked at Lincoln's pleading look and just shook her head. She told herself not to get mad, not to get upset. Not yet. There were too many unanswered questions. "Let's eat first." _

_He nodded complacently. "Okay." _

_Michael's hand was in the McDonald's bag when they returned and he quickly removed it and pushed the bag away hastily when he saw them, as though he didn't want to show them that he was eating it. He looked at them sheepishly._

_"Oh, for God's sake," Lincoln said. "Just eat it, Mike. I don't care what you're trying to prove either way." He put the plates down and opened the pizza box, smiling at the sight of pepperoni. "Ah, now that's heaven."_

_Veronica had to admit that the pizza looked good, but glancing between the brothers, she realized this might be one of the most stressful lunches they'd all had together._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Michael was twelve when Lincoln Jr. was born was born, and it was a huge deal to see this baby was that had been the biggest conversation and argument piece for the past nine months. This baby that had put a huge chip in Lincoln and Veronica's relationship. This baby that had caused Lincoln to question everything about his life and his job and his choices. This baby that had caused Lisa Rix to become a more constant character in their lives, whether they liked it or not. With the baby's name Lincoln as well, Michael almost saw it as Lisa's attempt to further bind Lincoln to her and their child. _

_Michael knew Lincoln was trying really hard to keep up with everything, and it showed. For one of the first times in his life, he realized just how much his brother tried to do and kind of realized why he was so strung out all of the time. It was a lot of pressure. _

_Now Lincoln was gone a lot of the time, whether it was at work or at Lisa's with the baby. At night, Lincoln usually went out, saying he needed to walk off some steam or go calm down, and at first Michael wasn't sure what that meant until he noticed Lincoln came home reeking of booze and other things._

_When the baby was just a few months old, Michael found out Lisa was going on a trip with her mother and that Lincoln would be taking care of the baby. He was really excited at first, because although he'd seen the baby plenty of times, they'd never lived with the baby yet. Living with the baby meant Lincoln would be home, so he thought it was going to be great._

_That was before he realized how loud babies were. Especially a four o'clock in the morning. _

_He woke up immediately when he heard the piercing screaming resounding through the apartment. He looked over at the bed next to him and saw it was empty. Lincoln was already up. Michael lay there for a moment, thinking about how he had school in just a few hours to get up for. This was the third night of this and he was starting to realize, even at twelve years old, how precious uninterrupted sleep was._

_He dragged himself out of bed, pulling up his sagging sweatpants as he walked sluggishly out of the bedroom to find Lincoln. He found his brother walking around the apartment slowly, in shorts and an sweatshirt, rocking the few months old in his arms. Only the light was on in the kitchen, so the room was still fairly dark._

_One thing Michael knew for sure was that he'd never seen Lincoln as gentle with anything as with this baby. Lincoln kind of transformed himself into this calm, soothing creature around the baby. Lincoln hadn't even drank these past couple of days with the baby around, and that was kind of refreshing._

_Michael was also kind of jealous. He really liked the baby, and thought it was cool, something that small and complicated, but he rarely saw Lincoln as it was, and now he felt like all of Lincoln's conscious time was spent on the baby. Michael felt like he was more of a passing thought now, and only if the baby had everything taken care of._

_"Lincoln…" Michael began, sitting on the arm of the couch. He watched his brother walk back and forth in slow, smooth pacing circles, but the baby continued to cry._

_Lincoln looked up at his brother, with tired, dark eyes. "What, Mike?"_

_"I can't sleep…"_

_"No shit," Lincoln answered. "I don't think the neighbors can either." He jostled the baby a little with his step. "Sh…." _

_"Lincoln…"_

_"Just go back to bed, Michael."_

_"I can't."_

_Lincoln sighed in exasperation and hushed the red-faced screaming baby, frustrated. He knew this what Lisa dealt with all of the time, and he was happy to help out, but he just didn't know what to do anymore. _

_He used his knowledge of Michael as a baby as his footing for what to do. Michael used to cry all the time and was easily fussy or scared. Easily overstimulated. Lincoln was old enough at the time that he remembered feeling like the whole environment, with Michael's screaming and his mother's tearful attempt to take care of him, as representative of their father leaving in the middle of the pregnancy. It was like Michael had sensed their anxiety and screamed it out. Lincoln remembered simply sympathizing when Michael cried like that._

_Caught in his thoughts, Lincoln recalled a specific time where he'd come out like Michael had now, trying to see where his mother and the baby were, and found them on the couch, Michael screaming and their mother cradling him, crying herself like she had no idea what to do. After a while, Michael became more of a thoughtful, pensive baby than an emotional one, but for a while it had been a challenge._

_"Lincoln…" _

_Lincoln looked up at the now twelve year old Michael and snapped out of his reverie, exhausted. "Well, what do you want me to do, Michael?" he asked tiredly. "Huh?"_

_"Maybe something's wrong with him," Michael said. "That he keeps crying."_

_"Babies cry. He's just upset. I tried feeding him. Nothing's wrong except he's crying." _

_"It's like he's broken."_

_"Babies don't break, Michael."_

_"Unless you drop them."_

_"Well, I'm not going to drop him." Lincoln shook his head. "You have school in the morning. Go to bed."_

_"I can't…" Michael whined irritably. "I can't with the noise."_

_Lincoln sighed._

_The baby was quieting a little bit, and Lincoln didn't answer. He remembered reading how some babies quiet down if you take them for rides in the car. He began to wish that they had a car so he could try it. _

_"Can I hold him?" Michael asked._

_Lincoln looked at Michael in exasperation, feeling out of control. It was times like this at four o'clock in the morning when all of this was on top of him that he started to wonder what was even worth it. Then he met Michael's blue eyes, which looked so hopeful, and he just shrugged and figured it wouldn't change anything to have someone else hold LJ. "Okay. Just sit normal on the couch first." _

_Michael slid off the arm of the couch onto the cushion as Lincoln walked towards him. He held his arms out as Lincoln carefully handed him the baby, and Michael took him gleefully, even though he was still crying. It made Lincoln smile a little to see the happiness on Michael's face. _

_"Support his head, Mike." Lincoln tapped Michael's arm._

_"I know." Michael readjusted the baby comfortably and smiled at it. "You know he looks like you, Lincoln."_

_"How can you say that? You can't tell at his age who he looks like."_

_"Yeah you can. His head is huge."_

_Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Thanks… Thanks a lot." He rubbed his hands over his face and yawned. "I'm making some tea, do you want any?"_

_"Hot chocolate."_

_"Even better idea…" Lincoln replied. He headed for the kitchen and tiredly got mugs out. He put water in a kettle on the stove to boil and yawned, realizing just how exhausted he was. He was glad Michael could get himself up for school in the morning, because he did not see himself being able to get up then. He knew that the baby would likely wake up again in a couple hours after he finally put him down now, and he was not looking forward to it._

_Still, he couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. It was tiring and frustrating, but so was life, and Lincoln was still enthralled by the baby and what it represented. It was a part of him, and it was a whole human being that he had made, and that amazed him. He realized how enchanted he was with the whole idea of it. _

_He had partially understood it through Michael and watching his transformation from baby to toddler to little kid, and to be honest most of the time Lincoln felt like he was kind of Michael's father anyway for the purpose of it. But there was somehow something even more enchanting when it was your own child from birth._

_Thinking about it that way calmed Lincoln down a little bit at least, and that's what he needed. To calm down. He couldn't just focus on the two hours of sleep a night or the minimal balance in his bank account or the bills that were stacked on the counter. _

_The kettle began to whistle and Lincoln found himself back in reality. He found the hot chocolate mix and quickly made some for himself and Michael, pouring in milk with the water and stirring it hastily. That was when he realized he couldn't hear a baby crying anymore. _

_He carried in the hot chocolate and set it down on the coffee table in front of the couch. In front of him the baby was finally asleep, cradled in Michael's arms peacefully. But Michael was also dead to the world, with his head tilted sideways, eyes closed and lips parted just slightly as even breaths made his chest go up and down. _

_Lincoln walked around the table and very carefully removed the baby from Michael's arms, supporting LJ delicately as he tiptoed towards the bassinet in the corner. The baby slept quietly, and Lincoln was able to set him down without a stir. He looked at the sleeping baby for a moment and suddenly felt like his world was complete. Then he went back to the couch and sat down beside Michael, nudging him gently._

_Michael's eyes opened slowly, and then he looked down at his lap and empty arms. He could still feel the warmth of the baby and he panicked for a minute and looked at the floor. "I dropped him."_

_"No, Mike," Lincoln laughed. "He's sleeping."_

_"Oh." Michael looked confused. "Okay."_

_They sat there for a moment, enjoying the silence finally felt in the apartment. Then Lincoln slid his arm around Michael's shoulders and pulled him in close, leaning down to kiss him on the head. Michael didn't say anything, enjoying the rare affection from his brother. He suddenly craved that intimacy, but just as he realized that, it was gone, as Lincoln pulled his arm back to reach forward for one of the mugs. Michael felt disappointed. _

_"Here." Lincoln gave him one of the mugs. "Drink then go to bed. I don't want you to fall asleep at school."_

_"I won't." Michael took the mug from him. "Are you staying up?"_

_"I just want to think for a little bit, and make sure LJ's okay." _

_Michael didn't reply. He took a sip of the hot chocolate, but it was too hot. He held it absentmindedly for a moment before leaning forward to put it back on the coffee table. Then he yawned and rested his head on Lincoln's arm tiredly._

_"Quiet is nice, huh?" Lincoln said as he took a sip from his mug, apparently undisturbed by how hot it was. "You finally realize that."_

_"Yeah."_

_"I forgot how much babies wake up during the night," Lincoln persisted. "You're the only baby I remember and it's been a while. You remember they sleep a lot but not how much they wake up…"_

_Michael didn't answer._

_A moment passed before Lincoln continued. "I can see why Lisa wanted to take a break. At least she has her mom helping her out a bit though. As not thrilled as her mother was about this, she's helping out a lot…"_

_"Yeah…"_

_"Lisa's a great girl…" Lincoln persisted, like he was trying to convince himself of it. "We'll manage all of this somehow. I mean, we've survived three months, right?"_

_"Mmhmm."_

_Lincoln glanced down at his sleepy brother and sighed. Michael's eyes were closing. "I'm boring you. God. My life is so boring." _

_"I like when you're home, Lincoln…" Michael murmured back, nuzzling his face into Lincoln's sweatshirt._

_Lincoln glanced down at his half asleep little brother cuddling up against him and sighed, realizing how little he'd been around for him recently. It was times like this that Lincoln often felt he did a terrible job at balancing his life. As much as Michael meant to him, he knew he'd barely seen him recently. Lately when he came home, Michael was already in bed. Sometimes he waited up for him, but most times he just seemed to give up._

_Sometimes Lincoln wondered what his role was for him, or what Michael even thought of him. He was trying his best to raise him, but he was beginning to feel like a hypocrite. He was tough on Michael for everything, and then went out and did things himself that he would beat the shit out of Michael for even considering. And even knowing that didn't make him stop his lifestyle. _

_Lincoln moved his mug to his other hand and lifted up his arm, letting Michael shift over into him. He rested his arm back around Michael's shoulders with a sigh. _

_"I like when I'm home too," Lincoln responded, feeling Michael's warmth and suddenly missing him. The last three months had gone by in a whirlwind with the new baby, and Lincoln had lost track of everything else, including Michael. Even the bills were behind. For all he knew, when Michael left in the morning he wasn't even getting on the bus for school. Being Michael, he knew he was, but having that as a possibility at all was unnerving. _

_He suddenly felt really bad for how negligent he'd been. _

_He rubbed his hand over Michael's head, over his short hair. "Sleepy?"_

_"Mmhmm." _

_"Yeah, me too." Lincoln drank some more of his hot chocolate. "Hey, listen... I'm sorry I haven't really been around much recently… And how I've been staying out real late and everything… I'll get everything in a routine again, okay?"_

_Michael nodded, half listening, half sleeping._

_Routine **again**? Lincoln wasn't completely sure that they ever had a real routine._

_Lincoln just sighed, continuing to pet Michael's hair, and not knowing what else to really say. He didn't want to make anymore promises that he wasn't sure he could keep. _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	9. Chapter 9

This one's long... And seemed a little scattered when I read it back... So constructive feedback would be great to help me out!**  
**

**Chapter 9**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_It was the third day that Lincoln was baby-sitting for baby LJ, and Michael wasn't sure how much more he could take. He was mad at himself for ever being excited about having the baby stay at their tiny apartment. He realized how idealistic he'd been about the whole situation and how much of a mistake it had been to tell Lincoln he thought it would be fun. _

_Babies were not fun. Not fun at all. It had been a novel concept. Since people were always excited about babies, and Lincoln seemed, although scared, very excited about his new son, Michael had gotten caught up in it._

_Babies didn't interact, they didn't talk, they couldn't even sit up by themselves. They drooled, cried, and smelled. Not to mention LJ had transformed Lincoln into a restless, irritable person in just three days. Michael didn't even have to do anything to get Lincoln annoyed._

_Michael felt sleep deprived and ignored. School had been hellish after a sleepless night and it had taken the rest of his barely there energy to try to stay awake the last hour of the day, during fifth grade Social Studies. Last week another kid, Tom, had fallen asleep, and Mr. Stalen had made him stay after school. Michael definitely didn't want to stay after; he wanted to go home and sleep._

_However, when he got home, the baby was crying and Lincoln was on the phone in the kitchen, pacing as far as the phone cord would let him. Immediately Michael felt annoyed. _

_He tossed his bag on the floor and gave Lincoln a glare, but his brother was oblivious. He was in a heated conversation with somebody and barely acknowledged his brother's arrival. Michael wondered if maybe it was his boss. He wasn't sure how Lincoln had managed to take this many consecutive days off to take care of the baby. He was always worried about Lincoln losing his job._

_He looked at the baby on the table in his car seat. LJ was crying with flushed, wet cheeks. Immediately, Michael wanted to know when Lisa was coming back. Maybe the baby just missed its mother. Lincoln looked terrible. _

_The baby cried and Lincoln walked in circles with the phone to his ear, looking agitated. Michael wished he could pause it all as he walked past them through the small kitchen, towards the refrigerator to grab a Coke. _

_When he opened the fridge door, he debated grabbing a beer just to see if Lincoln would notice, but Lincoln didn't look to be in a playful mood, so Michael decided against it._

_He wished he had somewhere else to go. He started to think that staying after school might have been a better idea. One, it would mean he'd been able to sleep a little at school, and two, he wouldn't be here. That screaming caused an internal ache. It wasn't just the sound of it, it was the anxiety that it caused. It made Michael want to scream. _

_Within minutes, Lincoln got off the phone; but he went right to the baby, lifting him out of the car seat, soothing him until his cries subsided. Michael waited for Lincoln to ask him how school was. He wondered if Lincoln knew he was home yet._

_"Lincoln, I'm home," he said._

_"I'm not blind," Lincoln answered, voice sounding slightly hoarse from tiredness. "Kind of deaf thanks to LJ, but not blind." The baby calmed down now that he was held, with his head against Lincoln's shoulder. Lincoln glanced over at his little brother leaning against the counter. "V's coming over, okay?"_

_Michael's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Why?"_

_"Why?" Lincoln echoed, giving him a confused look. "What do you mean why?"_

_Michael didn't want to answer. But last time Veronica was over it was a huge screaming match. She and Lincoln had so much to fight about now, and Michael felt far too exasperated and exhausted to deal with them again. Lincoln had been violent during the last fight, not to Veronica, but in general, throwing a book across the room, pounding his hand against the wall… _

_"She wants to see the baby," Lincoln said, without waiting for Michael's explanation. "She loves babies." _

_"I thought she hated you."_

_"She doesn't hate me, Michael," Lincoln answered stiffly. "I fucked up, that's all. But she's still my friend. And she still wants to see the baby."_

_"Who was on the phone?"_

_"Aunt Kathy."_

_Michael paused. "Why?"_

_"No particular reason." Lincoln shook his head but his eyes darkened a little bit._

_"Why were you yelling at her?"_

_"I wasn't yelling at her."_

_"Yes, you were."_

_"Michael, I know when I'm yelling, and I wasn't yelling," Lincoln said irritably._

_Michael began to realize what a sour mood his brother was in and just sulked, taking another gulp of his soda and wishing for the second time he hadn't come straight home from school. Michael was mad at the baby for making his brother so short-tempered. Lincoln had a temper to begin with; he didn't need a screaming baby and no sleep to exacerbate it._

_Michael didn't know why Aunt Kathy would be calling, although she was the one family member who had helped them out after their mom had died. She checked in after the funeral, making sure Lincoln was "capable", but then the calls got less frequent. Lincoln referred to her as their legal guardian fallback, but in honesty they rarely heard from her. Not unlike the rest of their limited family, with whom communication was weak and visits were seldom._

_"Was she yelling at you then?" Michael asked._

_"Neither." Lincoln sighed. "Just drop it."_

_"Why would she be?" He knew there could be a variety of reasons. Aunt Kathy was not a patient woman herself. She was a no-nonsense, strictly business type of woman. She was friendly, but she could be hard to please._

_Lincoln looked agitated at the questions. "Michael, did I not just tell you to drop it?"_

_"Is it 'cause of the baby?" Michael knew he was pressing his luck, but he was really curious. He hoped that it was about the baby. Maybe Lincoln would realize what a terrible idea all of this was. He knew Lincoln already felt the baby was the product of being really irresponsible, but Michael wanted him to be reminded because personally he was tired of it and all the screaming._

_"Michael," Lincoln said harshly, giving him a reprimanding look. It was enough to get the baby in his arms whimpering again, and Lincoln looked at Michael like that was his fault too. "Just grow up, Michael."_

_Michael didn't have a response to that. His brother's reproach for simple curiosity offended him. He hated when Lincoln refused to answer his questions. "Did you sleep today?"_

_"Do I look like I've slept?" Lincoln muttered. _

_Michael shrugged. "Not really. You look terrible."_

_"Yeah," Lincoln muttered. "Which reminds me… Can you watch LJ while I shower?" Lincoln began, looking towards the clock on the wall. "Veronica's going to be here in like twenty minutes, and I need a shower really bad."_

_"Is she staying for dinner? Can we get Chinese food?" _

_"I don't know, Michael. Maybe. Can you watch the baby?"_

_Michael didn't want to. He'd just gotten home from school, and all he really wanted to do was go somewhere else or take a long nap somewhere. At least the baby had stopped crying, but the house still resounded with anxiety. He held his can of Coke miserably, feeling like he couldn't get away from anything. "But, Lincoln…" he complained._

_"Michael, to be honest, I'm not in the mood," Lincoln said. "In fact, I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. It'll be like ten minutes."_

_Michael hated being bossed around, but he could rarely avoid it. He frowned at Lincoln irritably and listened halfheartedly as Lincoln told him to "watch TV or something" and to just "hold LJ" and persisted that "how hard was it, really?" _

_Michael just stared at him. He felt like he was staring right through Lincoln, who was this empty shell that used to be Lincoln, but now was a tired zombie. He didn't say anything, he just stared._

_"For fuck's sake, Michael," Lincoln muttered. "Why are you looking at me like that?" _

_"I'll do it," Michael said. "But just put him back in the car seat or something, because I don't want to hold him."_

_Lincoln was incredulous. "What's your problem?"_

_"Nothing, Lincoln. I'm **tired**," Michael whined. "School was just really bad, and I'm tired. I'll watch him, okay? Just put him inside, and I'll watch him."_

_"Tired? You don't think I'm tired, Michael? God. You'd think I'm asking you to do something so difficult. Not to just **watch** him for ten minutes."_

_"I already said I'd do it. I was only just saying, because I just got home, that—"_

_"Lucky you, then," Lincoln answered. "Ten minutes. I've watched you by myself for the past four years; you think that was a piece of cake?"_

_Michael felt offended by the comparison. "Lincoln. I'm not a baby."_

_"You think I didn't have to take care of you when you were a baby, too? You think you never kept me up all night screaming?" Lincoln shook his head. "You know, I think I almost prefer LJ's screaming to arguing with you right now… You're being fucking impossible." _

_"Lincoln, I said I'll watch him…" Michael muttered, putting his can of Coke down on the counter in annoyance. He didn't want Lincoln to get mad at him, and he would admit his complaints were childish. But he just didn't understand why he couldn't just come home and relax. He walked over and put his arms out, taking the baby from Lincoln. "Here."_

_"I'm tired too," Lincoln persisted as he handed the baby over. "You just gotta help me out, man, you know? I'm not asking a lot." He watched Michael carefully hold the baby. "Watch his neck, okay?"_

_Michael nodded, feeling cross but deciding just to go along with it for now. Arguing wouldn't fix this right now. Lincoln left the kitchen, and Michael slowly did as well, the baby feeling heavy in his arms as he walked towards the couch. LJ was at least content for now, and so far Michael hadn't had to carry him while he was crying, so he hoped it stayed that way._

_Michael sat on the couch and balanced the baby in his lap. He held him under the arms to keep him sitting up, and the baby just stared back at him, a blank look on his face. He had soft brown hair and brown eyes, and while he was pretty cute, Michael still felt resentful. _

_"Just don't cry on me," Michael told LJ. "I have a headache. In school the room smelled like Clorox. I think somebody threw up or something. You know that smell." He heard the shower start and glanced in that direction before looking at the baby again and bouncing him a little on his lap like he'd seen Lincoln do. _

_It felt weird talking to a baby that couldn't respond. But Michael liked to think he at least understood. In a way, the baby seemed to be listening more than Lincoln had. Lincoln had a glazed over look when Michael talked to him._

_Before he could say anything else to the baby, there was a knock on the door, and he realized that Veronica was early. He got up off the couch, resting the baby on his hip and walked towards the door, pulling it upon._

_Veronica was in a t-shirt and jeans, and her eyes skimmed over Michael and the baby in his arms. "So weird," she said. "You holding a baby." She smirked. "How are you, Mike?"_

_Michael shrugged, moving out of the way to let her in. "I'm okay." _

_"You look tired…" she said sympathetically as she walked into the apartment. She glanced around. The place was a bit messier than usual, and she figured they'd been pretty busy. "Did Lincoln tell you I was coming over? "_

_Michael nodded. "Yeah, but I got home from school like ten minutes ago." He kicked the door shut behind them, and the baby stared at it. "He's in the shower. He'll be out in a minute."_

_"Yeah, I'm a little early…"_

_Michael adjusted the baby in his arms and then looked up at Veronica again. "I didn't know why he said you were coming over, because I didn't think you were talking. I thought you hated Lincoln now."_

_"I don't hate him," she replied. "I think this is all just a lot…" She reached out to stroke the baby's cheek. "This is a huge surprise… and I don't know…" She smiled weakly at the baby. "I just don't really know… So they named him Lincoln too?"_

_Michael nodded. "Yeah. Linc's calling him LJ. For Lincoln Junior."_

_"Cute." She rolled her eyes. "Lincoln with a baby. Wow." She shook her head. "I mean, he's had you, but—"_

_"Veronica. I'm **not **a baby," Michael interrupted. He was starting to get really annoyed with this frequent comparison that was coming up between him and LJ. He began to hate being twelve. _

_"I know…" she said with a laugh. "I know, Michael. I'm just saying, he's taken care of you, and I just never thought I'd see a baby added to the mix."_

_"I can take care of myself," Michael insisted. "In fact, I bet if I left right now he wouldn't notice for a while. Except I'm supposed to be watching the baby."_

_"He'd notice in a second you were gone, Michael." She gave him a pacifying look. "Don't even doubt it. I'm sorry, and I know you can take care of yourself. I didn't mean it that way. But he would definitely notice you were gone."_

_Michael shrugged. "I doubt it... Do you want to hold him?" Michael asked, offering the baby. "I'm tired of him."_

_"You're tired of him?" _

_"Well, my arms are. I don't mind him when he's not crying." _

_Veronica consented and took the baby from him, cradling the child in her arms. She was picking up on Michael's troubled tone and didn't know what the root of it was, whether he and Lincoln were fighting, or he was stressed by the baby, or he was just tired. She tried to get a gauge on his expression, but he was hard to read._

_She focused on the baby again. "He's good with strangers, huh?" she said. The baby just gazed at her with calm brown eyes. She noticed the tear-stained cheeks and was suddenly curious as to how impulsive, often hotheaded Lincoln was dealing with an infant. "Is Lincoln good with him?"_

_"Yeah, I guess." Michael leaned over and pet the baby on the head. "Do you like your daddy, LJ?"_

_The baby just gurgled. _

_Michael shrugged, looking unconcerned. _

_"Michael, what's wrong?" she asked with a frown. Michael had a forlorn look on his face._

_"Nothing. I'm just really tired. He cries a lot." Michael rubbed at his nose. _

_"All babies cry a lot." She walked over to sit on the couch._

_Michael brooded, following her. "Well, he cries even more than average, I think. I only slept an hour last night." He sat on the arm of the couch._

_"Really?" she asked, a little surprised. She began to understand Michael's moodiness. "Only an hour?" _

_He nodded. He watched Veronica and the baby for a minute and then yawned. "You and Linc aren't going to fight, are you?" he asked apprehensively. "I don't really want to be here for that..."_

_"I hope not," she answered. "That's definitely not what I came over here for. He really wanted me to come, too, so I doubt he'll try to start anything."_

_"He's in a really bad mood though."_

_She frowned. "Is he? He sounded fine over the phone." _

_Michael nodded. "He is. I mean, I've only been home like ten minutes, but still."_

_She sighed. "Well, he better not be… I'm sure he's just exhausted. I would be too, if I were in his shoes." Veronica had debated for a while whether or not she wanted to come over. It seemed soon, and awkward, and to be honest, Michael was right; she and Lincoln had only been fighting recently._

_Michael nodded. There was no doubt Lincoln was exhausted, but he was tired of that being an excuse. "I'm an uncle."_

_"I know," she said with a smile. "Uncle Mike. Pretty cool, huh?"_

_Michael shrugged again. "Yeah, I guess." He pressed his lips together and watched her rock the baby. "Do you wish it was yours?"_

_She looked up at him quizzically. "What?"_

_"Do you wish the baby was yours and Lincoln's?" he asked innocently._

_She eyed him, trying to see what kind of answer he was looking for. His thought process was quite interesting for a twelve year old. She hesitated in answering, and then realized she had to somehow. She had always been honest with Michael. _

_"Not necessarily, but you know I like your brother," she admitted. "It's just, I'm not in the point in my life where I could handle a baby." She paused. "Neither is Lincoln, to be honest."_

_They sat there for a couple of minutes until Lincoln returned, looking more refreshed in jeans and a black t-shirt. He looked extremely relieved and happy to see Veronica as he walked over. He gave Michael a pat on the head before he took a seat beside Veronica on the couch. Michael eyed him, wondering if maybe Veronica being here would make him less wound up._

_Lincoln smiled at Veronica. "I see you met my son."_

_"Son. Can you believe you're saying that, Lincoln?" she responded. _

_He made a face and then smirked. "Yeah, I know…" He paused. "It does sound weird, but I'm getting use to it. You know, it's really good to see you, V… I'm glad you decided to stop by."_

_"Yeah…" she began. "I wasn't going to." She figured she would be honest. There was no point in starting to lie to Lincoln now. "But, I decided I probably should. Besides, you talked so much about the baby." _

_Michael listened to them talk about the baby for a while, and how much he weighed, how much he ate, how much he slept, how much he cried… He zoned out after a while, staring at the TV. It wasn't on, but he stared at it anyway, at the blank, dark screen. It was so much easier to see how dusty it was when it was off…_

_"Michael," Lincoln said suddenly._

_Michael blinked and turned to look at him. _

_"Why don't you do your homework or something?" Lincoln began. "I just wanted to talk to Veronica for a little bit."_

_Michael paused for a moment, trying to arrange his thoughts. He hadn't seen Veronica in a couple of weeks, and he kind of just wanted to be included. Sure he wasn't really listening to what they were saying now, but the talk had to move from the baby, didn't it? Usually they talked about other stuff at least. Well, the usually Michael was thinking of was back when LJ wasn't around. _

_Veronica had never tried to exclude him. He shifted his eyes to her, but she was looking down at the infant, cooing at him._

_"Michael," Lincoln persisted. "You hear me?"_

_"But…" Michael began. "I don't have any homework."_

_"You're full of shit. I know you have homework. Go do it."_

_Michael frowned. "What are you gonna talk about?"_

_"Just boring stuff. Go on." Lincoln's look was insistent, and more stern than his words, so Michael slowly slid off the couch, not wanting to fight with him again and not wanting to make Veronica wish she hadn't come over. He wanted to kick Lincoln, but he didn't. Instead he stalked off towards the kitchen where he'd left his bag._

_"He's not happy," Veronica said softly with a little bit of a laugh as she watched Michael disappear. _

_"He's overtired," Lincoln answered with a shrug. "So am I. The baby's been keeping us up. It's been a little tense around here; I'll be the first to admit it. It's only been a few days though." _

_Veronica just shrugged, eyeing the baby and toying with the idea of telling Lincoln how much she was enjoying holding him. It was refreshing, a little infant, with big sparkling brown eyes and just so much innocence. Even if it was Lincoln's at the worst possible timing for him, it was still so hopeful…_

_"What are you thinking about?" Lincoln watched her with a smile._

_She looked up at him and hesitated. "Oh. Nothing." She tried to figure out what it was she wanted to say to Lincoln, and found herself confused. "What'd you want me to come over here for, Lincoln?"_

_"I…" He ran his hand over his jaw, realizing he hadn't shaved that morning. "I know we haven't been on the best of terms, V… And I know it's my fault, really… And I guess this is pretty much representative of how irresponsible I've been…" He glanced at the baby. "But at the same time…"_

_"It's more than that." Veronica waited. In the heat of their arguments, she always told Lincoln how irresponsible she thought he was, even though she only half meant it. This wasn't one of those arguments though, and she knew there was something else. _

_"Look, I just… I'm having a tough time." He looked at her earnestly. "I'm just… I'm burnt out, Veronica. I really am. And these three days have been… it's like the last straw. I feel like I'm going to break. And it's everything."_

_"Like what?"_

_"Like… Well, for instance I was just on the phone with my aunt… And…" He leaned back in his chair and then looked over at her again. "Hey, I can hold him if you want, by the way. I know Michael just stuck you with him, but—"_

_"No, no, it's fine," she persisted. "I'm enjoying him. What'd your aunt say?"_

_Lincoln sighed. "Well…" He looked uncomfortable. "Okay, so I'd asked her for some money… I thought that… Well, right after Mom died, she gave us a couple thousand dollars. Totally unexpected. I mean, for someone we rarely saw, she really set things up for us. She signed a lot of the paperwork, she made sure me and Mike could work out, she helped me find the apartment…"_

_Veronica nodded. "She's a nice lady."_

_"Most of the time…" He smirked. "But yeah, she can be pretty generous sometimes. But… A couple thousand doesn't go very far, you know?" He cleared his throat. "And honestly, I know that was a lot of money, trust me I know… But it goes quick. And I've worked my ass off, especially once I decided school wasn't going to work out anymore…" _

_He paused for a moment, thinking back on when he'd dropped out of high school, and then moving on. "So I've managed, but it's been, like… Rough. Rough on me, rough on Mike… So with the baby now… I really want to help Lisa out. I mean, even if she's living with her mother… I feel like I just stuck her with the baby…"_

_"Lincoln," Veronica objected. "You didn't stick her with anything. I know you both are responsible for the baby, but… She decided to keep the baby. She—"_

_"I made her keep the baby," Lincoln interrupted. "I mean, to me that wasn't even an option."_

_"I know, Lincoln, but still…"_

_"I just want to feel like… I'm contributing."_

_"You mean financially? Does she ask you to?"_

_"No," Lincoln admitted. "I mean, not directly. But I just feel… that pressure, you know? And I know her mother hates me, and half the time me and Lisa are at each other's throats, and…" His voice faltered a little. "Veronica… You know I never meant for this to happen. I mean, I really fucked it up. I fucked us up, I fucked everything up."_

_Veronica swallowed. "Lincoln… Leave us out of this for now," she said softly._

_He nodded, not arguing. _

_"So," she began, trying to keep the conversation moving, feeling still unsure about coming back here so soon, but at the same time appreciating that Lincoln was opening up so much. "You asked her for money again."_

_"She thinks I'm a bastard." Lincoln shrugged. "She said I'm a disgrace, just like my father, and that I can barely take care of Michael and me, and how dare I screw around with some girl and get a baby…" He rambled off. "We had this huge argument."_

_Veronica wanted to assure him he was none of those things. "So she won't let you borrow any money?"_

_He frowned. "Well, yeah, that was the bottom line. And I mean, I said **borrow** too. It's not like I wanted to take her money. I mean, fuck, I never wanted to take her money in the first place… But the first time, when Mom died… I had no idea what to do… I mean, Michael was so young. I didn't know what to do. And we needed it."_

_"I know. She knows it too. She shouldn't use it against you."_

_"I don't know what she expects me to do. I mean, I could get a second job again, but I hate that, because Michael… I don't want him alone all day. I mean, I can at least be home at a decent time for him. We weren't good then."_

_"Your job is fine, Lincoln."_

_"It's shit," Lincoln answered, shaking his head. "It's absolute shit, V. I mean, I have no benefits. I'm making almost nothing. It's not even that I don't like it. It's just such a fucking…" He trailed off. "I'm sorry. I'm just like… laying this all on you. I…"_

_She heard the honest despair and frustration in his voice and gave him an incredulous look. "Lincoln, don't apologize to me… I'm your friend. That's what I'm here for."_

_He nodded after a pause. "Thanks. Thanks, Veronica. I really… I really wanted you to be here."_

_She took a deep breath. "I know… And I know you hate to hear this Lincoln… But my father… He'd lend you a little for now, and—"_

_"I can't do that. I can't do that to your family."_

_"It's not a big deal, I've told you that before."_

_"He's never even offered, V. You're just saying that because you want to make me feel better. You have no idea what he would even say."_

_"My father has never refused to help one of my friends, Lincoln."_

_"Even friends he's not fond of?" Lincoln raised an eyebrow. _

_"Well, think about it, Lincoln…" She sighed. "The offer's on the table. But I really think you should focus on you and Michael. I mean, it's great you want to help with the baby, but you're living paycheck to paycheck as it is, Lincoln. One day maybe, but now…"_

_"I won't be a bum." Lincoln shook his head. "I won't be like my father."_

_"Lincoln. You're not."_

_"Not yet. And I'm helping with this fucking kid."_

_"You are. Look right now. You are taking care of him... And you just have to try to relax, Lincoln, because there's no point in doing anything if you're going to have a heart attack before you accomplish anything."_

_"I can't relax. It's the money. It's the baby. It's Michael…" He shook his head. "It's everything."_

_"What's wrong with Michael?"_

_"Nothing," Lincoln shook his head. "Nothing, except that I don't… I don't know what to do with him. I don't know if I'm his brother or his father, and it's…" Lincoln paused in exasperation. "He thinks differently. He's too smart, he's too quick, but he… but he doesn't **think** at all. And half the time I want to hug him and half the time I want to strangle him."_

_"It's like that with everyone, Linc. But he's a good kid."_

_"Sometimes."_

_"Lincoln…" She shook her head. "You're too hard on him. And yourself."_

_"I don't know what's harder. Michael or the baby. And now… I mean, we were fighting just before. He wouldn't even watch the baby while I fucking showered… I mean, last week he was fucking **thrilled** that we were gonna have LJ here for a few days. Now, it's like… God, I don't even know."_

_"You already said it yourself, Lincoln…" Veronica started calmly. "He's overtired. He's a child too, you forget that." _

_"So what do I do? Make him nap? That doesn't work."_

_"He's twelve, Lincoln. What do you expect from him?" She rolled her eyes. "From yourself?"_

_"I just want… I don't know what I want." Lincoln shook his head. "I want us to not have to worry if I can even bring in food for us every week. I want Michael to stop dissecting every little fucking thing with his head."_

_"Lincoln… I don't know what to tell you…" Veronica looked down. The baby had closed his eyes, oblivious to the tension in the room and the stress of the conversation, sleeping peacefully. "I mean, nothing is going to ever be perfect. I can tell you that right now."_

_"Well, I want it to be."_

_"You're not Superman."_

_Lincoln didn't say anything. He used to be. Michael used to think he was Superman. He used to think that his big brother could fix anything. Now… Now he questioned everything his brother told him, made a face at any suggestion or order, zoned out into his own little world when he couldn't focus on the world in front of him._

_"Lincoln, you're not," Veronica persisted. "Hate to break it to you."_

_"I know. I know I'm not."_

_"It's just stress. And it's understandable, Lincoln. I mean, you've done more at your age than anyone I know. And Michael is a smart, good kid, and he worships you, okay?"_

_"I don't want him to worship me. Me? I'm a minimum wage deadbeat with an illegitimate kid, okay?" Lincoln shot back. "I don't want that at all."_

_Veronica didn't say anything. _

_Lincoln faltered and felt himself trip up. He'd gotten so many of his worries out that he was at a loss now. He'd just spilled everything, as much as he could muster, trying to explain himself. To the one person he could actually explain it to._

_"I'm sorry," he apologized. _

_"It's fine."_

_"No, it's not. I mean… I think about you all the time, too, Veronica… About us…"_

_She looked up at him, eyes wide. "I told you, Lincoln. I told you not to do this now. And I mean it. I can't. I'll leave." Her voice was uncertain, faltering as it tried to be tough._

_"Okay," he said quickly. "Okay, I know. And I won't." He paused. He wasn't sure where else to lead the conversation. He'd complained to her so much already. "Want to stay for dinner? Michael wanted Chinese food."_

_She shook her head. "I really can't…" She knew it would be a bad idea. She wanted to open up to Lincoln again, after all he'd just put out on the table for her, but it was too much. It was too complicated right now. She couldn't add anymore to the mix. Not with everything that was already going on._

_"That's fine," Lincoln answered gently. He saw it on her face. He wasn't going to ask her why, because he was afraid of the answer. _

_"I actually… I should probably get going." She glanced at her wristwatch. "I'm glad I got to see LJ though."_

_Lincoln sat up and reached over to gently take the sleeping baby from her. "Here…" He took LJ into his arms, careful not to wake him, and then looked back up at Veronica, who was getting to her feet. "Thanks for coming over."_

_"No problem," she answered. She looked down at them, feeling a swell of emotion from seeing Lincoln with his son, and then slowly said. "Really, Lincoln, I mean it. I'm always here… Just let me know… I think we should talk more. Soon."_

_He nodded. "Yeah, I agree." _

_A moment of awkward silence passed between them and then she turned to leave. Lincoln watched her walk across the room and let herself out, feeling exhausted. He was physically and mentally drained. He was happy to have opened up to Veronica, but at the same time he started to worry if it had been a mistake. There was so much to their relationship right now, so much unsaid and unanswered, but if nothing else, he needed her as a confidante. _

_After a few minutes of thinking and enjoying the silence, Lincoln got up to put LJ back into the bassinet, hoping he would sleep for a while. Then he walked back to the kitchen and found Michael at the table, staring at a book, a blank sheet of paper beside it, with a pencil loosely in his hand. _

_"Hey. Thanks, Michael," Lincoln began._

_Michael didn't turn his head._

_"Michael," Lincoln persisted. He walked over and tapped his fingers on the table. Michael then looked up at him, like had had no idea he'd been in the room. Lincoln just ignored it. "Listen, thanks. Veronica—"_

_"She left?"_

_Lincoln nodded. "Yeah."_

_Michael tapped his pencil against the table. "Want Chinese food?"_

_"Let's eat some stuff we have in, okay?" Lincoln answered. He ignored the face Michael made and instead thought about the conversation he'd just had with Veronica. He realized that ordering out for food was probably not the best idea considering how much he'd been worried about money recently. _

_"Not even maybe anymore?" Michael asked._

_"No, I changed my mind." Lincoln rubbed at his temples. "Listen, buddy, I think I'm gonna take a nap while the baby's sleeping… We'll eat in an hour or something, okay?"_

_Michael shrugged and turned back to his work._

_Lincoln hesitated, watching him for a moment. He wanted to say something else. He wanted to talk to Michael like he'd just talked to Veronica. But he couldn't. He didn't know what to say to him._

_He left and headed to the bedroom._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Lincoln slept for a good hour and a half, completely uninterrupted. When he woke up it was on his own, and he just stayed in bed for a few extra minutes, wishing he could sleep like that for ten more hours. But he knew he couldn't, so slowly he pushed back the covers and crawled out of bed._

_He yawned, and stretched, and realized how tired he still was. But that hour of sleep was still fantastic._

_Lincoln was starting to think that maybe he felt a little less stressed than before the nap as he walked towards the bathroom. The talk with Veronica had calmed him down a lot. In fact, simply seeing her had calmed him down. But an hour of quiet solitude was perfection. Even if it seemed to make him more tired._

_He was just thinking about all this somewhat contently when he started to pee into the toilet and noticed something different. He recognized immediately what it was. Saran wrap over the toilet seat. He watched the pee pool up on the plastic wrap and shook his head, quickly zippering his pants as he felt his exasperation return. At least the wrap had enough slack that the pee stayed on the plastic and didn't run off onto the floor. _

_Exasperated, he grabbed open the bathroom door, yelling, "Michael!" just as he realized his hand was now covered in a thick, greasy substance. He looked at the doorknob and cursed. "I'm gonna kill him."_

_All of his impatience rushed back at him as he stormed out of the bathroom. He just couldn't understand why… Why Michael had to give him such a hard time, especially this week, when it already seemed like the world was falling apart and the sky was falling._

_Michael was sitting on the couch watching TV and looked up with a bit of a smirk on his face as Lincoln furiously burst into the room. The smirk made Lincoln boil._

_"Get up, Michael. Come here," Lincoln barked. Michael just sat there, his smirk kind of fading as Lincoln's voice got louder. "I mean it, Michael."_

_Michael slouched down on the couch, glancing at the TV. "It's only Vaseline."_

_"Only?" Lincoln walked over towards him, feeling himself get angrier as he approached the couch. "Only? And the toilet?"_

_Michael studied him and then laughed. "Did it—"_

_Lincoln cut him off when he yanked him up off the couch by his arms, bringing the kid to his eye level. He saw the spark of fear in the blue eyes and thought to himself, Good. "Don't you laugh," Lincoln snapped, even though Michael was no longer laughing. He shook him a little. "It's not the least bit funny. What I oughta do to you…""_

_"You're gonna wake the baby…" Michael said, eyes darting towards the bassinet, hoping it was enough to have Lincoln let go of him. After a pause, Lincoln did let go, and Michael fell back onto the couch, letting out a breath of relief. He felt the relief for just a moment though, until he saw Lincoln's hands go towards his belt._

_"Let's see if this wakes the baby, huh, Michael?" Lincoln began as he unbuckled his belt. "I'll teach you to—"_

_"No!" Michael objected, reaching forward to grab Lincoln's hand. "No, don't. I'm sorry, Lincoln. Honest."_

_"What do you want then?" Lincoln pulled his hand out of Michael's irritably. "What do you expect?"_

_"Don't," Michael pleaded, grabbing onto Lincoln's hand again. "I'm sorry I did it." His voice wavered. "I didn't mean it."_

_Lincoln pushed his hands away again, shoving him back against the couch. "You give me shit as soon as you get home, now this, fucking practical jokes, and you laugh at me. You think it's funny? You expect me not to get upset about it?"_

_"No…" Michael whimpered, sitting back insecurely. "No. It's not…" He suddenly deeply regretted the boredom he'd felt during Lincoln's nap and didn't know why he'd thought the pranks would be a good idea. He thought it would just be something for Lincoln to notice him over, not to get this angry._

_"I don't know what to say to you." Lincoln glared down at Michael, his hands clenched at his sides, not sure what to do. He was furious. His right hand was still covered in Vaseline and he wiped it off on his jeans angrily. Michael was starting to look like he was going to cry, and Lincoln hated that. "What do you fucking expect of me?"_

_Michael suddenly thought of the few other things in the house he had tampered with and looked up at Lincoln uncertainly. "I'll go fix the other…" he began slowly, softly._

_"What? I don't know what's gotten into you," Lincoln persisted. "I don't have time for you fooling around like this, Michael. It's not even funny." _

_Michael squirmed under Lincoln's glare. "I… There's a couple other…"_

_"There's more jokes?" Lincoln demanded. "You're telling me there's more?"_

_Michael nodded, staring down at his hands, feeling miserable. He swallowed, unsure what to do. _

_"Show me," Lincoln said stiffly. "And fix it." He stared at the immobile Michael and gave him a look. "C'mon. Get up and show me, Michael."_

_Michael slowly slid off the couch, walking past Lincoln towards the kitchen. Lincoln followed him as he first walked towards the kitchen table. He pulled the salt and pepper shakers closer to him and turned their lids on tighter, as he'd loosened them to fall off when turned upside down. _

_Next he walked over to the sink and reached over to the spray hose, pulling off a tightly wound rubberband that was holding down the sprayer handle. _

_"What's that do?" Lincoln asked, far from amused. _

_Michael shifted uncomfortably as he put the rubberband around his wrist. "It… It makes the sink sprayer on automatically… So that when you… If you turn on the sink, it'll just spray out at you."_

_"That's funny, Michael," Lincoln said sarcastically with an annoyed tone. "Real funny. I didn't know today was April Fools." _

_Michael didn't say anything._

_"Is that all of them?" Lincoln asked._

_"Yes, Lincoln…" Michael answered softly. _

_"So then?" Lincoln asked. His little brother looked terribly guilty, leaning back against the sink with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. Lincoln crossed his arms over his chest and waited, but Michael wasn't saying anything. Lincoln walked towards him and his brother began to look uneasy._

_"Are you going to hit me?" Michael asked. _

_"Was going to," Lincoln admitted. "I don't know how you could do all that to me and not expect to get your ass whupped." _

_"I thought…" Michael trailed off. He no longer knew what he felt. _

_"You never think," Lincoln retorted, moving to the sink to wash his hands off, still feeling the sliminess of the Vaseline. He ran the water, using some soap, and rinsed it off. "You never think at all."_

_"I do."_

_"No, you don't." Lincoln shook his head. "And right now I don't know what to do with you." _

_Michael watched him wash his hands, feeling a bit dejected. He wasn't sure what to say to Lincoln. He didn't think what he had done was so serious, but he didn't want to tell Lincoln that, because he was afraid that it would give Lincoln a reason to get madder. Right now he was just trying to make sure Lincoln would just calm down. He'd scared him before on the couch and Michael wasn't sure what to do._

_"Are you going to say anything?" Lincoln persisted. _

_"I already said sorry…" Michael answered softly. Before he could say anything else, the baby started to cry from the other room, and Lincoln turned his eyes towards the doorway. Michael was almost thankful for the interruption._

_Lincoln turned back to Michael. "I want you to go check on LJ, and then clean up what you did in the bathroom. I have to figure out what we're having for dinner."_

_"But…"_

_"What are you waiting for, Michael? I'm too tired for this. Go do it."_

_Michael made a face. "Does that include cleaning up your piss, Lincoln?"_

_"Do you want it to include a spanking?" _

_"No…"_

_"Then just go do it. LJ first, obviously."_

_Michael made a face and dragged himself out of the kitchen. _

_Lincoln wiped his wet hands off on his jeans, and watched Michael as he disappeared inside. He sighed and looked around the kitchen, hoping that Michael had remembered all of his stupid pranks and there would be nothing else left to surprise him. Lincoln hated surprises._

_He wasn't sure why Michael was acting the way he was, but he tried to erase it from his mind. He tried to focus back on the perfect hour and a half nap, and the silence and comfort he'd gotten from it. Sure during that time Michael had planned pranks on him, but he wasn't going to let that completely ruin the nap. _

_Whenever he got too angry at Michael, he tried to rationalize the kid's actions and remember what it was like to be that age. Whenever he talked to Veronica about it, she made the point to him that when he was Michael's age, he still had their mother. Lincoln imagined Michael might think differently if their mother was still alive, and with that in mind, he really did behave pretty well. _

_Lincoln listened inside to the baby's subsiding crying and sighed. Sure Michael didn't have a mother, but Lincoln didn't have his teenage years. Or freedom. Or any choices. _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Dinner was awkward simply because Lincoln and Michael didn't really speak to each other. Lincoln made spaghetti, because it was really the only thing he could manage to make when he was exhausted and annoyed. It was easy and fast and they both liked it. It helped that they ate on the couch in front of the TV, so the awkwardness of no conversation was covered up slightly by the baseball game on TV._

_When they finished eating, the plates sat on the coffee table, covered in sauce. Lincoln watched the baseball game go into the seventh inning and yawned to himself, wishing that he'd never woken up from his nap. Then he'd still be in a good mood._

_"Michael," he started. "Can you make sure I turned the stove off?" _

_Michael slid off the couch, not arguing. If there was one good thing about a remorseful Michael it was his lack of resistance. _

_"And get me a beer if you can," Lincoln added as he headed to the kitchen. He put his feet up on the coffee table and rubbed at his eyes. _

_Michael returned a minute later. "There's no beer left, Lincoln," he told him as he walked back to the couch slowly._

_"None?"_

_Michael shook his head. "No."_

_"Did you drink it all?" Lincoln joked._

_"No." _

_Lincoln smirked. "Probably me then, huh? That sucks…" He rested his head back against the couch and sighed, looking at the game. One out. He stared at the TV screen tiredly, feeling himself zone out. He didn't even notice that Michael was coming close to him until he found Michael beginning to climb into his lap. "What, Michael?" _

_Michael simply settled sideways on his lap, sliding one arm around his brother's back and resting his head against his chest. "Nothing."_

_Lincoln looked down to view Michael's expression, but his face turned and was pressed against his chest. Part of him wanted to tell Michael he was getting too big to sit on his lap, but the other part of him enjoyed the affectionate side of his kid brother. After the stress of the day it was nice to have Michael dependent on him. "You okay?" he asked._

_Michael nodded. _

_Lincoln sighed and rested his hand on Michael's hip. "Okay." He patted him softly. _

_After a moment of watching commercials, Michael spoke up. "Are you still mad at me, Lincoln?" he asked softly._

_Lincoln hesitated. "I'm not as mad… I know you meant nothing by it. Just a bad day to try me."_

_"I just thought it was funny."_

_"You know I don't like those kinds of things." Lincoln took a deep breath. "I just… You know I had the best nap and then I wake up to that…. But it's all cleaned up now, and we'll just laugh it off and forget about it, okay?" He was getting too tired for old anger or frustration._

_Michael nodded. Then after another moment's pause, he asked, "Who do you prefer more, Lincoln?" _

_Lincoln watched the second out on the screen and frowned. "What're you talking about, Michael?"_

_"Who do you prefer more?" Michael repeated, voice soft. _

_"Who? Who is the who?"_

_"LJ or me."_

_Lincoln was taken by surprise when he heard the answer. He looked down at Michael in disbelief. "Michael. Did you really just ask me that?"_

_"I was just wondering."_

_Lincoln pushed Michael to sit up and looked at him intently. "Listen to me, Michael… Don't ever ask me that."_

_Michael's lower lip trembled. "Now you're mad again…" _

_"No. No, I'm not mad." Lincoln shook his head. "It's just a crazy question, Michael." He watched his brother's blue eyes water with tears and realized Michael was exhausted. Absolutely exhausted. And he felt terrible. "Michael, kid, you know I love you both."_

_Michael was quiet._

_"If it seems like I'm giving LJ more time," Lincoln began, in his head thinking that it was pretty obvious that that was exactly what was happening, "it's only because babies need more attention, right? I mean, it's only because he can't do anything for himself."_

_Michael nodded, but a few tears slipped down his cheeks. _

_Lincoln sighed, exasperated but also feeling bad. He reached up and cupped Michael's face with his hand, using his thumb to wipe some tears away. "Don't cry, Mike," he said gently. "There's nothing to cry about. I'm not mad at you, and you know when I get mad I forget about it. I was upset before but you didn't really do anything. I'm sorry…"_

_Michael pressed his face back against Lincoln's chest again, and Lincoln took a deep breath, running his hand up and down Michael's back. "Listen, Michael. I love you, and you'll always be my little brother. Nothing can replace that. And no amount of missing sleep can change that."_

_Michael sniffled. "If the apartment was on fire," he began, "and you could only save one person—"_

_"Are you kidding me?" Lincoln didn't know whether to be angry or to laugh. "Is that a serious question?" He slid his hand to Michael's lower back. "Listen. No ridiculous questions. I love you both more than anything, okay? And that's not a cop-out answer, Michael. It's like asking Mom which one of us she loved more."_

_"Did she love one of us more?" Michael asked in surprise. He gripped Lincoln's t-shirt in his hand._

_"No. That's my point. I mean, if you don't believe me that's your choice, but I'm not changing my answer."_

_"Remember you said when the baby came you would make me go somewhere else," Michael began. "Then you—"_

_"Why do you have a good memory?" Lincoln muttered. "And why don't you understand teasing? You know I didn't mean that, Michael." _

_Michael just gripped his t-shirt in his fist and didn't answer. He sniffled._

_Lincoln glanced at the clock on the VCR. "Listen to me, pal... I think you're just overtired and you need a good night's sleep, and then you'll feel better, alright? There's no partiality here, okay? And Lisa comes to get LJ tomorrow, and you'll sleep better than ever."_

_Michael nodded. "And then you'll be in a better mood."_

_Lincoln laughed. "I think we'll all be in a better mood."_

_"Okay."_

_"But there's no loving anybody more, and if I've been out of it recently, it's just because I'm under a lot of pressure. It's not because of you." He rubbed Michael's back again. "Okay, kid?"_

_"Yeah," Michael agreed. _

_"When LJ leaves, we're just gonna have a sleep marathon," Lincoln said, pulling Michael closer to him. "We'll get like twelve hours of sleep." He sighed, thinking about how when LJ was gone, he would go back to the job he hated, and really nothing would change._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Sorry for the kind of sappiness in the last half of this. Please review!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes: **Okay so I'm exhausted as I'm posting this, and it's kind of cut off at the end, so we'll see if I reread it and decide to edit the whole thing! But yeah, I seem to be caught in the flashback mode, but I'll get back to the present day soon enough I swear! I really want to do the Riot scene, for example. Thanks for the reviews, please keep them coming. Hope you enjoy. Again this chapter might be changing a lot.

Emilie- I wish you had an account on here so I could reply to your reviews! I just wanted to answer your questions: You asked whether in my mind, Lincoln does beat Michael or if it just a constant threat? I think Lincoln is a physical person... I think he gets trapped in his mixed thoughts sometimes and it erupts sometimes physically more than verbally. Like on the show when he is in final visitation and he flips over the table and is just angry, and Michael's face kind of has a look like he's not surprised by the outburst. I don't think he would ever be abusive to Michael. But in that sense did he ever hit him? The characters that I'm writing the answer is yes, but at the same time, it's more commonly a threat than an actuality. I think Lincoln is very protective of his brother, and in the same sense I think if anyone else ever touched Michael he would go ballistic. But even Veronica made mention of it on the show that Lincoln beat up Michael to keep him from becoming like him. I think Lincoln acts more out of fear than anything else. It's complex, but hopefully I'm answering aptly to get what I think across.

**Again I think this chapter's going to be kind of weak, but please enjoy and be constructive! **_**  
**_

_**Chapter 10**_

_Michael thought his day was going fairly well. That was, as well as an average day for a junior in high school during midterms could possibly go. He got home in a fairly good mood, feeling like he aced his chemistry exam and knowing the calculus exam the next day would be a piece of cake._

_His mood changed a few minutes after he unlocked the apartment door and flipped the light switch on the wall. _

_No light came on._

_Puzzled, he closed the door behind him and tossed his backpack to the floor. He walked over towards the light on the end table and turned it on. Except it didn't turn on either. He frowned. _

_Next he tried the TV. _

_Nothing._

_Suddenly a feeling of dread filled him. There was no electricity? He didn't understand how that could be. _

_"Lincoln!" he called. _

_There was no answer. He walked towards the bedroom and glanced in. The room was dark, and no one was in sight. _

_The bathroom was empty. So was the kitchen._

_He opened the refrigerator. No light was on inside, but it still felt cold. But judging by the condensation starting to form on the outside of the milk container, he could tell that it wasn't exactly staying cooled on electricity's accord._

_He shut the door, hoping to keep in all the cold he could so that what they had wouldn't go bad. _

_He thought for a moment and then looked on the counter, shuffling through the envelopes and papers in a pile. _

_He found the utility bill and opened it. He knew it. He knew it well. He had paid it. He always paid the bills. _

_He stared at it for a moment, making sure he remembered it. And he did. This was definitely the one he'd paid. It didn't make any sense._

_He looked at the customer service number and walked over to the phone._

_Lincoln was going to kill him. He didn't know where Lincoln was, but he knew this wasn't good. He wondered if Lincoln knew the electricity was out. Maybe that was why he wasn't around. _

_He dialed the number and was immediately put on hold. He sighed and leaned against the wall. He knew this day had gone too seamless for something not to happen. But this? He really wasn't expecting this. _

_He glanced at the wall, at the clock. It was just four o'clock. But it was the end of October, and the sun would set probably by five. Then it would just be dark._

_He hated being on hold. _

_He stared at the bill, glaring at it, wondering how he could have possibly messed this up._

_Different scenarios went through his mind. _

_Did he forget the stamp? No. He clearly remembered putting on a stamp._

_Addressed wrong? How though? He wrote the same address every month. It really wasn't hard. He nearly had it memorized. _

_Maybe it was stuck in the mailbox he'd dropped it in. That was always a possibility. Maybe it was jammed in there. It was raining when he'd put it in, maybe it had gotten wet, and just kind of stuck itself somewhere…._

_Or maybe it was just lost in the mail. That could happen too._

_He was simply anxious by the time he finally got off hold and was able to talk to somebody. He looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes on hold. Ridiculous._

_He read the account number off the bill when they asked for it. _

_"Address?" the woman on the other end of the line asked. She didn't sound like she liked her job much. _

_Michael told her his address._

_"Burrows?" she asked._

_"Yeah," Michael answered with a sigh. "Lincoln."_

_"Okay, what seems to be the problem?" _

_"Well, I'm just a little confused because… Well, I know that I paid the bill on time this past month. It was due on the fifteenth. And I just got home, and there's no electricity." He paused. "Unless there's an outage in this area."_

_"Let me see…" she said monotonously. He heard her clicking on the computer. "Okay, Mr. Burrows… I see here on record that your payment was received on the fourteenth… By check…. Oh here we go. That check bounced, Mr. Burrows."_

_"Bounced?" Michael echoed. He felt a sinking feeling._

_"Yes," she answered. "If you read the terms of your bill, you'll see the late fees associated with—"_

_"Late fees? When were we going to be told…" Michael began in exasperation. "So you don't just say something? I mean the bill was paid early. Isn't there a notice or—"_

_"The notice is that your power has been turned off, Mr. Burrows. When we receive payment—"_

_"No, I don't understand. I mean—"_

_"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not sure what else you want to hear. We did receive your check, but it bounced. You may want to call your bank and—"_

_"But I don't understand."_

_"Is there anything else I can help you with today?"_

_"No, but—"_

_"You can send payment to the same address listed on your bill. You can also pay by credit card over the phone."_

_Michael hesitated. Lincoln had his credit card. "I… Okay."_

_"In that case, thank you for your service, and have a good day."_

_"But—" Michael cut himself off as he heard a click and then dial tone. He held the phone in one hand, the bill in the other, completely baffled. _

_He hung up the phone and tossed the bill on the counter again. Suddenly he was mad at Lincoln. Michael had paid the bill. He hadn't done anything wrong. The money was Lincoln's problem. Why couldn't Lincoln do anything?_

_He picked up the phone again and dialed Veronica's cell phone._

_She answered after three rings. "Hello?"_

_"Veronica…" he began, taking a deep breath. "Hi."_

_"Hey, Michael. What's going on?" she asked. "I haven't heard from you in a while."_

_"Do you know where Lincoln is?" he asked._

_She laughed. "Michael… I'm in Texas right now…"_

_He felt like banging his head against the wall. Of course. Of course she was in Texas. He knew that. "Oh. Right. How's Baylor?"_

_"Good. Waco's really a lot different than Chicago, but it's good. What's going on? Why are you looking for Lincoln?"_

_"Well…" He looked at the refrigerator. At where their food was probably going bad. He sighed._

_"What's going on?" she persisted, tone becoming concerned._

_"I just…" He rubbed at his short hair. "I just got home from school. And there's no power. But I paid it. And I called the company and asked, and they said the check bounced."_

_There was silence on the other end of the line._

_"Veronica?" he asked._

_"Yeah," she said._

_"But I don't know where he is."_

_"Typical."_

_"I paid it though," Michael persisted. "I did pay it."_

_"It's not your fault, Michael," she answered. "It's your brother's fault for being an ass." _

_"But what should I do?"_

_"I'm in Texas," she began. "I mean—"_

_"I'm sorry," he began. "It was stupid of me to call you. I just didn't think… I think Lincoln and then I think you, and I completely… Of course I know you're in Texas."_

_"Don't be sorry. I'm glad you called me. I'm just saying that I wish there was something I could do, but from here it's harder… You know?"_

_"No, it's okay…" he began. "I shouldn't have called you, I just don't really know where—"_

_"Did you try Lincoln at work?"_

_"He doesn't have a phone there. But he said he was getting off early today…"_

_"Nothing works? No lights, no TV, nothing?"_

_"Nothing," Michael agreed. "I can't call the bank. Because for that I have to actually be Lincoln. I don't know his numbers. But—"_

_"What the hell did he spend the money on? Did you pay your rent this month?"_

_"Yeah, I pay that on the first. That wasn't a problem. I don't think…. I mean, the landlord hasn't said anything…"_

_"Lincoln is an idiot. He's so lucky to have you paying the bills."_

_"But they didn't get paid."_

_"I know, but it's not your fault, Mike. You did pay it. In theory."_

_He frowned. "Yeah…"_

_"What, does Lincoln expect you to balance his checkbook too?" she muttered. "I mean, he's got to do something, you know? Don't beat yourself up over this."_

_Michael played with the telephone cord. "I don't know the whole story yet though. Do you think he'll be mad about it?"_

_"Michael. You didn't do anything." _

_"Yeah, but—"_

_"Michael," she said. "Listen. You didn't do anything."_

_"What should I do though?" _

_"It's his problem. You don't know when he's coming home?"_

_"No. I never do." Michael let out a sigh. "I don't know why I thought you'd know where he was. Look, I just got home… I'll just wait around and see. He should be home anytime so…"_

_"You remember," she began. "If he gets mad, don't let it be at you, Michael. You didn't do anything. It's him mad at himself."_

_"Will the food go bad?"_

_"What food?" _

_"In the fridge."_

_"Just don't open the door. It might be okay."_

_Brow furrowed, he paused. "But I opened it once. When I was checking if it was on." _

_"It's okay," she replied. "Just leave it now." _

_"Okay."_

_"Look, Michael. Don't sit and wait in an empty, dark apartment."_

_Michael looked inside. The sunlight still filtered in from the window. "It's not dark yet. It probably won't be for a little while at least."_

_"Go to a friend's or something, Michael. Don't just wait around for him. You hear me? I don't—"_

_"I don't need your permission to do anything," he began._

_She laughed. "I'm not giving you permission for anything. I'm giving you suggestions. That's all. You can do whatever you want. If you wanna sit in the dark waiting for your stupid big brother, you can go right ahead."_

_"Yeah."_

_"But I wouldn't suggest it."_

_"He might be home soon."_

_"When he does come home, tell him to call me, okay?"_

_"Yeah, okay."_

_"Okay. And if you need me, call me. Even if I'm in Texas, you know you can still call me," she persisted._

_"Yeah. Okay, I'll talk to you later. Thanks."_

_She sighed. "Bye, Mike. Talk to you later."_

_Michael waited around for Lincoln for a little while. He flipped through a magazine as he sat on the couch inside. He didn't really have anything else to do. No TV. No homework. Studying for calculus was unnecessary. _

_As the sun went down and the light inside became less, he grew more frustrated. To make it worse, the windows had a northern exposure. So there was really no sun coming in._

_He thought about it being completely dark inside. No lights, no TV, no nothing, and got a little bit concerned. It was an unsettling idea. Maybe Veronica was right. Sitting around waiting for Lincoln really wasn't going to do anything._

_He realized he'd been reading the same page for about ten minutes and sighed. He couldn't stop thinking about the bills, and Lincoln, and having no electricity. _

_He decided to call his friend Sean._

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

_"Hi, Mrs. Claiborne…" Michael greeted uncomfortably as the middle-aged woman answered the door. She was in a suit, as though she'd just gotten home from work, and he scratched his head. "Uh, Sean said—"_

_"Yes, Sean said you were coming over, Michael," the woman answered with a smile. "He's just inside playing video games. Come on in." _

_He stepped into the townhouse foyer, glancing around. He'd only been to Sean's house a few times, and he always felt a little awkward because it was so nice. He always felt like he shouldn't touch anything. They had decorated for Halloween already, and he looked at the decorative fall leaves that adorned the staircase railing. _

_"How are you doing, Michael? I haven't seen you in a while," she continued as she led him down the hall. _

_"I'm good," he answered. _

_"Midterms going well? Sean said you're pretty smart, right?"_

_"Uh, yeah, they're going well," he answered, impressed that she knew that it was midterms at school. He started to hear the video games as they approached the family room. _

_"Well, I'll leave you guys to yourselves," she said as they reached the room. Sean was in the same t-shirt and jeans he had on at school, sprawled on the floor playing a video game in front of a large TV. "Sean, honey," his mother said._

_He paused the game and looked up. "Oh, hey, Mike. Cool. Want to play?"_

_"Sure," Michael agreed._

_"I hope you're staying for dinner, Michael," Mrs. Claiborne persisted before she disappeared down the hall._

_Michael walked in to the room and sat down on the floor next to Sean, glancing at the leather couch behind them and the shelves of movies and video games. It was like being in a store. "You didn't tell your mom about what I told you, right?"_

_"What?" Sean began, adjusting the baseball cap on his head. "About you not having power or anything?"_

_Michael scowled at him. "Yeah. Don't tell her."_

_"Why? I mentioned it. It's kind of weird, man."_

_"It's not weird. It's a mix-up."_

_Sean just made a face. "She won't say anything. She'll just make you stay for dinner."_

_"I don't want her feeling bad for me," Michael persisted. "It's just a mix-up. It'll probably be on as soon as I go home."_

_Sean held the controller in his hand. "You can spend the night if you want."_

_Michael shook his head. "I don't want to spend the night."_

_"My sister's away at school. So you could even have a bed."_

_"No. I'll go home after dinner, and Lincoln will be home," Michael answered persistently. _

_"Sure." Sean handed his controller to him and got up to grab another one from a few feet away. "Let's play." _

_"Okay." Michael looked up at the TV as Sean went through the menus and brought it back to restart it with two players. The TV was about three times the size of the one he and Lincoln had; he was really amazed by it. _

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

_Dinner was weird. Michael felt out of place with Sean, his mother, his father, and his six year old brother. And all the home cooked food. He and Lincoln cooked, sure, but it just wasn't like this. _

_"I hope you like chicken parmesan," Mrs. Claiborne said to Michael as she passed him a salad bowl._

_"I do," he answered. "Thanks for having me."_

_"Anytime, honey."_

_"How was work, Dad?" Sean asked, glancing over at the gray haired, heavy-set man who was buttering a roll. _

_"Good, Sean," the man answered, looking up. "We started on that TeleMax deal I was telling you about last week, so things have really picked up. We've got a great team on it though, and—"_

_"Daddy," the little boy sitting next to their mother began. He had marker on his face. "Daddy, why—"_

_"Peter," Mr. Claiborne started. "What have we said about interrupting?"_

_Peter made a face. "I dunno, Daddy, but today in school I drew a truck."_

_The father just shook his head and laughed. "A truck, huh?"_

_Michael watched their exchanges interestedly, thinking about himself and Lincoln's typical dinner, which they sometimes ate at the kitchen table and sometimes ate in front of the TV, barely looking at each other. This seemed so… formal. And yet it wasn't. It was just a family, eating, talking to each other… It wasn't formal at all._

_"Is it still just you and your brother, Michael?" Mrs. Claiborne asked._

_Michael nodded as he passed the salad bowl onto Sean. It was like Sean's mother was reading his mind. "Yeah. Just us."_

_"How is that?"_

_Michael shrugged. "It's good. I mean, we get along well." He paused. "Most of the time, anyway. It's just… how it's been, so… It's good."_

_"Sean's just started picking out some colleges," she continued. "Are you starting to think about that too?"_

_"Mom," Sean objected, rolling his eyes. "No one wants to talk about this."_

_"Your mother does," his father replied._

_"Michael doesn't though," Sean persisted. "And besides, she talks about it all the time."_

_"It's okay," Michael said gently. His friend gave him an exasperated look, but he didn't see why it was such a big deal. _

_  
"Where are you thinking of?" Mrs. Claiborne persisted. "Sean's dad went to Northwestern, but I'm not sure Sean's going to follow in his footsteps…" She sent her son a smirk._

_"It's so far away anyway, to think about it right now," Sean answered. _

_"It's not though. This is the year you have to apply, honey." She turned to Michael. "Where are you thinking about so far?"_

_"Well…" Michael hesitated. "I mean… I haven't really thought too much about it, but…"_

_"See?" Sean muttered._

_"Somewhere close I guess," Michael said. To be honest, he had no idea. The only times that he and Lincoln had talked about it so far consisted of Lincoln saying he was going to go, no matter what. Michael wasn't sure exactly how, or where, but his guidance counselor at school had started giving him brochures. He hadn't shown them to Lincoln yet. _

_"Close is good." She agreed. "You always need your family."_

_Michael nodded. _

_Dinner conversation drifted away from him after a few minutes, and he was thankful. He liked Sean's family, but he didn't know what to say to them. And especially after he found out Sean had told his mother about him and Lincoln not having any electricity… He just felt like she pitied him or something. She had this sad look when she talked to him. It wasn't like a typical motherly concern that she would have for any of Sean's friends. It was sympathy. _

_He didn't want anybody's sympathy. If Lincoln taught him anything it was to be proud. They had lots to be proud about. _

_That's why when, a little after dinner, as he was about to leave and Mr. Claiborne approached him with a checkbook, he suddenly felt nervous._

_"Look, son…" the man began._

_Michael stared at the checkbook for a minute, and then up at the friendly looking man. He didn't like being called son. _

_"Sean told us about the little problem that you and your brother—"_

_"We're not having a problem," Michael objected. "I don't know what Sean told you but—"_

_"Son," the man said again, making Michael feel restless. He opened the checkbook. "You don't have to say anything. Look, I wrote out a check, it's not a lot, so you don't have to worry; it's just enough that should cover your utilities so you boys don't have to stress these next couple days."_

_"We don't need—"_

_"I already wrote the check." Mr. Claiborne ripped the check out of the checkbook and held it out to Michael. "No good not taking it."_

_Michael stared at it, hesitating. He couldn't take it. _

_"You don't have to tell me whether you do or don't need it," the man persisted. "But I'll take it as an insult if you don't take it though."_

_An insult? Michael wasn't sure how to absorb that. He wasn't sure what to do. Lincoln would tear him apart for this. But before he really could respond, the man was folding the check and putting it in his hand._

_"We really don't…" Michael began._

_"Just take it."_

_"Well…. Thanks, I guess," Michael answered. He thought to himself, they didn't have to cash it. It was just a gesture. "That's really generous."_

_"Don't even think of it. It's nothing."_

_Nothing was subjective. _

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

_The apartment was candlelit when Michael got home. Lincoln was sitting on the couch eating out of a Chinese take-out carton with several candles lit on the coffee table in front of him._

_"Don't you look romantic," Michael muttered._

_Lincoln looked up. "Romantic? Fuck you."_

_Michael smirked._

_"C'mere. Where have you been?" Lincoln persisted, watching Michael walk in and shut the door behind him. "I should have you keep that door open for light from the hall…" _

_"I've been out," Michael answered slowly. He was disappointed. He didn't know why he thought that things might have changed by the time he came home. Of course nothing would be different. It was just darker. At least Lincoln was home._

_"What do you think of this?" Lincoln gestured to the darkness._

_"I don't know," Michael answered. "Don't want to think about it. That's why I left."_

_"That's why you left?" Lincoln echoed. _

_Michael walked over to the couch, watching as Lincoln dug back into the food. It looked like lo mein, but it was hard to tell in the dark. Michael settled next to him._

_"Want?" Lincoln offered him the carton._

_"No," Michael answered, pushing it away._

_"You eat?"_

_Michael nodded._

_Lincoln wiped off his mouth, frowning. "Where?"_

_"Sean's."_

_"Who's Sean?" Lincoln asked, stuffing another forkful of noodles into his mouth. _

_"Friend." Michael watched him with a frown. "Aren't you going to ask me why we don't have electricity?"_

_"I figure you're going to tell me. And I wanna figure out where you've been first." Lincoln twirled his fork in the food. He ate another forkful. "By the way…" he said as he swallowed. "I would appreciate it if you left me a note when you run off."_

_"I didn't run off."_

_"Either way. Leave me a note."_

_"You don't leave me notes. I didn't know where you were when I got home."_

_"You got home at… What, Mike?" Lincoln made a face. "Like three-thirty?"_

_"It's only nine right now, Lincoln." _

_"Only nine. Michael, there's a difference between me not being home at—"_

_"You said you got off early today."_

_"I did. I'm not talking about me. I'm talking about you. It's dark out. I don't want you to—"_

_"Dark out? It's darker in here."_

_"Listen, Michael. I didn't bring this up to argue with you. I just said to leave me a note when you go somewhere. Especially on a Tuesday when you shouldn't even be out. Easy enough; we've been through this."_

_Michael muttered to himself._

_"What?" Lincoln gave him a look._

_"You're a hypocrite," Michael responded. "And I'm not a little kid, Lincoln. I think being outside when it's dark is okay. What, I'm going to get mugged now?"_

_"That's not what I said, Michael. Don't twist my words when you know what I mean. Letting me know where you are isn't hard."_

_"It's not. You're just a hypocrite."_

_Lincoln just shook his head, continuing to eat. _

_Michael leaned his head back tiredly. "Where were you anyway?" _

_"Went out with some guys after work," Lincoln replied. _

_Michael set his jaw. "And when'd you get back?"_

_"Like an hour ago."_

_"So… Let me get this straight. You're mad at me because I wasn't here… Yet if I was here, I woulda been sitting in the dark for over four hours…"_

_"I'm not mad at you," Lincoln answered. "And I never said you should be sitting here. All I said was you could leave me a note when you leave. So I don't worry. Again, we've been through this."_

_"And all I said was you could leave me a note too."_

_Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Okay, Michael," he said sarcastically. _

_"Lincoln," Michael objected. "Don't."_

_Lincoln looked up at him. "What?"_

_"You don't understand."_

_"Okay, I don't understand," Lincoln agreed noncommittally. _

_Michael sighed, waiting a minute before he started talking again. "You know why the lights are out, right? I mean, aren't you angry about it?"_

_"I've been thinking about it… I was kinda pissed when I first got home, but I ordered food, and… I mean, did you pay the bill? I thought you would."_

_"I did."_

_"Then what?"_

_"I wrote the check. But I don't know what's in the bank account. Why do you assume it's my fault?"_

_"Mikey." Lincoln sighed. "Did I say it was your fault?"_

_"Well you asked me if I paid it."_

_"Because you usually do, buddy, that's all."_

_"I did pay it."_

_"Then what?"_

_"The check bounced." Michael rubbed at his forehead. "So I don't know what you spent the money on… But there wasn't enough in the account."_

_"Not even for the utilities?" Lincoln looked aghast. "Shit."_

_"What'd you spend it on?"_

_Lincoln shook his head. "I don't even… Fuck, then the bank charges you for the bounced check, you know that, right?"_

_"I know that?" Michael echoed. "Why should I know that? You never said— Lincoln, why is it my fault?"_

_"I already said it's not. Really, it's not, Michael. I'm not saying…" Lincoln leaned forward and put down the carton of Chinese food abruptly. "I'm not saying that at all, so stop asking me that."_

_"What'd you spend it on though?"_

_"It doesn't even matter. It's—"_

_"Yes, it does matter," Michael insisted, growing exasperated. He let out a deep breath. _

_"Listen. Did you call the company and did you ask—"_

_"Yes, Lincoln," Michael snapped. "Yes. You think I know the check bounced 'cause I have ESP or something?"_

_"Listen, man…" Lincoln answered with a hint of annoyance. "We don't have to argue about this, and—"_

_"But you're asking me," Michael persisted. "You're asking me like I control it, and I can't control it because you don't give me any ability to."_

_"You're not making sense. What did they say when you called?"_

_Michael sighed. "That the check bounced. So there's gonna be a late fee and we have to pay. They don't give warnings, they shut you off."_

_"Great. Late fee. Bank's gonna charge for the check and now a late fee…" Lincoln muttered. "Why do we even need electricity…? Hey, what checkbook did you use?"_

_Michael raised his eyebrows. "You said they were both good."_

_"Which one though?"_

_"I dunno. I…" Michael suddenly felt anxious again._

_"I'll doublecheck. I mean… Maybe it's…" Lincoln trailed off. "I just don't know."_

_"All the food's gonna go bad."_

_"Yeah… I didn't even think about that…"_

_Of course you wouldn't, Michael thought bitterly. "Veronica said that if you leave the refrigerator shut some of it might be—"_

_"Veronica?" Lincoln gave him an intense look. "What? When did you talk to her?"_

_"I called her because—"_

_"Because?" Lincoln looked a mix of shock and anger._

_"Why won't you let me finish?" Michael answered._

_Lincoln worked his jaw. "Go ahead. Tell me."_

_"I didn't know where you were," Michael replied slowly. "I thought maybe you'd talked to her."_

_"She's in Texas."_

_Michael ran his hand over his hair. "I know, Lincoln. But…"_

_"So you had to tell her? How I've failed again?"_

_"I didn't say that…" Michael said in exasperation. _

_"But what'd she think? When you're like, hi, we have no power, and I don't know where Lincoln is?"_

_"But I didn't know…" _

_Lincoln just shook his head. He leaned forward and picked up his food again. "Great. Just great. I'm sure she's thrilled with me."_

_"Lincoln…" Michael put his hand on his brother's arm briefly. "That's not why I called her…" When Lincoln wouldn't look at him, he pulled away and folded his arms over his chest. "Fine, be mad."_

_"I'm not… It's just we have no fucking power, Michael. I mean, I was pissed, I got over it because how did that change it, but now it's more… God. No power. I'm useless."_

_"So what do we do, Lincoln?"_

_Lincoln held the food carton on his knee absentmindedly. "I get paid Friday. I don't know what to do before Friday," he admitted. "I…"_

_Michael hesitated and then reached into his pocket, pulling out the folded check. Lincoln was a mixture of moods now, so it might not be the best time, but it was completely relevant. "Lincoln…" he began._

_Lincoln slouched down, taking a deep breath and setting the carton beside him. He stared at the candles. "What, Mike…"_

_Michael wasn't sure how to explain it. He held the check in his hand for a moment, knowing Lincoln wasn't going to be easy about this. "Don't be mad," he began._

_"For God's sake," Lincoln began. "I'm not mad at you. Grow some balls."_

_"Not mad yet," Michael objected. He held the paper out. "Look, I said no, and I didn't even want it, but—"_

_Lincoln took the paper and unfolded it. He stared at it. "You've got to be kidding me."_

_"I didn't—"_

_"Michael."_

_Michael shut his mouth, staring at the dimly lit coffee table._

_Lincoln took a deep breath. "Michael…."_

_"I didn't ask for it," Michael said softly, "if that makes a difference."_

_"You know how I feel about charity, Michael."_

_"I didn't ask for it," Michael repeated. "I don't know what you want me to say."_

_"Why do you have to bring people into our situation?" Lincoln persisted. "I mean, you call Veronica. You run off to your friends and tell them. I mean—"_

_"I didn't!" Michael insisted. "Lincoln, I didn't even say anything."_

_"Then why do you get a home cooked meal and a welfare check? Like you're a poor little orphan or something?"_

_"God, Lincoln…" Michael made a face. "You're completely taking this out of context."_

_"Then put it into context for me, Michael."_

_"It's not a stupid welfare check."_

_"Why is anyone giving you a check for anything, Mike? Help me understand this."_

_Michael let out an exasperated sigh. "I didn't want to be here in the dark, so I called Sean, told him what was up, and he said I should come over. So I did. I didn't expect him to tell his parents. What do you expect, I can't even tell my friends anything? I mean, I didn't know he'd do that."_

_"Yeah."_

_"When I was leaving, his dad was like, here… And I told him I didn't want it. And he said he would take it as an insult if I didn't take it."_

_"An insult?"_

_"I didn't know what to do. He just… He handed it to me. You don't have to cash it. I just…"_

_Lincoln stared at it. "Does he want me to pay him back?"_

_Michael shrugged. "Are you going to cash it?"_

_Lincoln made a face. "It's tempting. I wish you hadn't… I mean…"_

_"I didn't do anything…" Michael muttered._

_"No," Lincoln agreed. "It's just… I can't stand having them… They probably think I can't take care of anything. I mean…"_

_"I told them it was a mistake," Michael persisted. "That it was just a mix-up."_

_"Yeah, I'm sure they bought that."_

_Michael paused. "I'm sorry, Lincoln…"_

_"Don't be sorry…" Lincoln sighed. "You don't need to be. You did everything right."_

_"I shouldn't've told Sean. Or Veronica…." Michael trailed off as he remembered. "Oh. I forgot. She said for you to call her."_

_"To tell me how I'm abusing you and can't run a household, no doubt…" Lincoln rolled his eyes. He folded the check in his hand. He hated it. He wanted to tear it up. It took all of his effort not to. Because there was Michael sitting next to him, feeling guilty about it, and there was their need, in the darkness of the apartment. _

_"I doubt that," Michael said. "I'm sorry. I just— I don't know. I'm sorry."_

_Lincoln took a deep breath, thinking. "Can you do me a favor, Michael?"_

_"Depends," Michael answered slowly. _

_Lincoln smirked at his reluctance. He was smart. "It's an easy favor…" he said. _

_"Don't tell other people we have no power?"_

_"No."_

_"Oh wait. I just remembered. You can pay by credit card actually." Michael suddenly brightened. "I forgot. So you could put it on your credit card. Then they'll turn it on tomorrow."_

_"Good," Lincoln answered, feeling slightly better himself. He patted Michael on the thigh and left his hand there. "Listen. My favor. Stop feeling responsible for everything. Okay? We'll make a deal. I'll try to get my act together and you stop trying to be accountable for everything."_

_Michael was quiet. _

_"Tell me you understand," Lincoln persisted, squeezing his leg. _

_"Alright." Michael paused. And then, "Do we need more money, Lincoln?"_

_Lincoln shook his head. "Don't worry about money."_

_"How can you say that when—"_

_"The power will be back on tomorrow, man. I promise." _

_"I don't care if it's not tomorrow, right away, Lincoln, I mean if… It's just it doesn't cost a lot to pay the bill for a month… I mean, it does, I'm not saying that, it's just compared… Compared to what should probably be in the bank each month…"_

_"We've always scraped by, Michael. You know that."_

_"But if I got a job to—"_

_"No. Don't start this again." Lincoln shook his head. He pushed himself up off the couch. _

_"Where are you…. Wait," Michael objected._

_"I'm getting some water to drink." Lincoln gave him a look as Michael got up and followed him. "Michael, don't start."_

_"But if I did have a job—"_

_"I don't want you to." Lincoln walked into the kitchen with Michael on his heels._

_"You won't listen. If I did then—"_

_"I even don't want you to explain." The kitchen was dark but Lincoln found a glass and went to the sink to get some tap water. "Do I know what you having a job does? Sure. But you don't need one, and I don't want you to have one. I want you to go to school, do good in school, and that's it. That's your job."_

_Michael grunted. "Lincoln."_

_"Nothing. Don't argue it. You've got enough responsibilities." Lincoln leaned against the counter, watching his brother in the faint light. Michael looked completely frustrated, but he was used to that look on Michael's face, even now in the near dark. "Don't fight me. Not now especially."_

_"But I want to. You work."_

_"One, I'm older than you. And two, I didn't finish high school. So, what else do you want to argue?"_

_"There's no correlation there. If I get a job, I'm not gonna quit school. I'm not like you," Michael objected. Then he stopped himself and suddenly looked regretful. "Not that you didn't have to," he began. "Lincoln." He paused. "I know you couldn't…"_

_Lincoln just shook his head, sipping the water. "Just stop it before you dig yourself deeper."_

_Michael hated being cut off. He hated not being able to explain himself. It wasn't a right or wrong situation. It was completely opinion. But Lincoln's opinion on things like this usually stood, and this time was no exception. _

_"What if I did get one?" Michael began._

_"Why though, Mike?"_

_"To help."_

_"It's not helping," Lincoln answered. "It's pissing me off. Can you just trust me on this? Consider it a favor. You already know where I stand on it." _

_Michael frowned. _

_"Don't you have homework?" Lincoln asked, anxious to change the subject. "I don't even know what time it is. But you should do your homework while the candles are still decent."_

_"I'm not doing anything by candlelight." Michael rolled his eyes. "Like Little House on the Prairie. Besides. I don't have any. It's midterms this week."_

_"Midterms?" Lincoln echoed. He was amazed. Midterms were important. Here he was depriving his brother of a home with electricity, and the kid was in the middle of a testing week at school. Great. "You're kidding."_

_"No."_

_"You need to study?"_

_"No. Not for tomorrow."_

_"How'd the others go?" Lincoln persisted._

_"Good, I guess."_

_"You didn't tell me it was midterms, Michael."_

_"You didn't ask." Michael shrugged. "Not a big deal."_

_"Not a big deal? Sure it is. Your grades are important. Which do you have tomorrow?" Lincoln _

_"Calc."_

_Lincoln nodded. He knew his brother was good at math. He was good at school in general, as long as he focused himself. He felt like when Mike said he didn't need to study, he actually meant it._

_"Linc."_

_"Yeah?" Lincoln looked up._

_"I just thought. If we don't have power, there's no alarm clock. So how are either of us gonna wake up tomorrow?"_

_Lincoln paused and then smirked. "Ah, the logical one of the family. Good question. You mean your biological clock won't wake us up?"_

_Michael shrugged. Sometimes he woke up before the alarm, but he wouldn't depend on that to get to his exam on time or to get Lincoln up for work. "That's a stupid question, Lincoln."_

_"Well, when I call back Veronica so she can yell at me, then I'll ask her to call us in the morning. She always wakes up early for class." _

_"That early?"_

_"I'm not sure. We could go over to Lisa's, I guess." _

_Michael made a face. "Really?"_

_"What do you mean, really?" Lincoln frowned at him. _

_"I thought she had a new boyfriend."_

_"This isn't about her having a boyfriend." Lincoln put down his glass of water and walked over to the phone. "It's about me being the father of her child and not having any power." He picked up the phone and started dialing. "I'll show you."_

_Michael just watched him skeptically. _

_Lincoln listened to the phone ringing and hoped Lisa would pick up. He was not going to spend the night in the dark if he could help it, and she was the only one he could think of right away. He knew Michael was looking at him like he was crazy, but he didn't care. _

_"Hello?" Lisa finally answered. _

_Lincoln heard crying in the background. "It's me."_

_"Lincoln, say it's Lincoln. Don't say 'it's me'. I hate that."_

_"Why is he crying?"_

_"Because I'm trying to give him a bath," she responded._

_"He's four. Can't he—"_

_"That's right. He's only four, Lincoln. What are you calling me this time a night for?"_

_"It's only nine," Lincoln answered, not wanting to look at Michael as he said it. That was Michael's argument just earlier._

_"Nine-thirty," she answered. "Late enough. I've got my hands full with him right now."_

_"I have a favor to ask. You can say no."_

_"Great way to start the conversation…"_

_He sensed her agitation. "Are you okay?"_

_"I had a rough day. LJ's in a tough mood right now. It's late." She sighed. "What do you need, Lincoln?"_

_"Okay, well," Lincoln began, "it's just that my neighborhood has a blackout…" He gave Michael a stern look as Michael raised his eyebrows. "And Mike and I are sitting in the dark here. He's got midterms tomorrow, and I gotta go to work… It's just… We have no power."_

_"Are you asking to spend the night here?" she asked slowly._

_"Not if you don't want us to." _

_"Our place isn't big, Lincoln," Lisa said slowly. "I mean, I don't think it's a good idea."_

_"It's just one night," Lincoln persisted. "You won't even know we're around."_

_"LJ will. And he won't go to bed."_

_"What's one night?"_

_"Do you know what a four year old boy is like when he won't go to bed, Lincoln?"_

_"Sure I do. You forget I live with Michael." Lincoln smirked at Michael's glare because he had no idea what he was actually talking about._

_"That's not funny," she persisted. "I'm serious."_

_"One night, Lisa, I swear." Lincoln paused. "I'll owe you one."_

_She sighed. He could tell she was indecisive, but Lisa was never good at saying no. That was the story of her life. "Fine, Lincoln. I mean, you're in the dark and all, so I can't really say no with a good conscience."_

_"We'll be over in like a half hour, okay? Thanks, Lisa, really."_

_"Yeah…"_

_Lincoln hung up the phone and smiled at Michael. "Okay, kiddo. Go grab some clothes for tomorrow. We're going to Lisa's."_

_"Now?  
_

_"No. At midnight… Yes now." Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Bring books or anything you need for tomorrow too."_

_"This feels awkward, Lincoln."_

_Lincoln pressed his lips together and shrugged. "Well…. I want lights. So. Let's go."_

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

_Lincoln knocked on the apartment door and then turned to Michael, who looked tired and young with his sweatshirt and backpack. It felt much later than it actually was. _

_"Listen," Lincoln told his younger brother in a low voice. "It's a blackout. They didn't turn off our power."_

_Michael nodded. _

_Lincoln was insistent. "I mean it. If you say otherwise, I'll kick your ass."_

_"I won't," Michael agreed. "Don't forget to call Veronica."_

_"I can't call her from here."_

_"Why not?"_

_Before Lincoln could answer, the door opened. But Lisa didn't answer, a man did. He looked older, with longer, curly hair and dark eyes. He smiled and gestured them in._

_"Come on in, guys," he said. "I'm Jesse, Lisa's boyfriend. She's just with LJ."_

_Michael glanced at Lincoln as he walked into the apartment, worried about Lincoln becoming jealous of this guy. Lincoln got very territorial, especially when it came to LJ, and Michael suddenly wished they hadn't come. Awkward was an understatement._

_Lincoln's face was stony now, showing neither that he cared or otherwise. "How's it going, Jesse?"_

_"Good." Jesse shut the door behind them and locked it. "That sucks that you have a blackout. So random. You never know though, right?"_

_"Yeah," Lincoln agreed. Michael could telling he was sizing up the other guy._

_"Daddy!" _

_They looked up to see the dark haired, four year old boy running down the hall excitedly towards Lincoln in nothing but his underwear. Lincoln bent down and pulled him up into his arms as the boy reached him. _

_"Wow, look at you," Lincoln laughed._

_"Daddy, I'm so fast," LJ said, brown eyes wide. "Mommy said you're here all night. Like a sleepover?"_

_Lincoln pushed the boy's hair out of his eyes. "Your hair's all wet. Did you just get out of the bath?"_

_"Yes," LJ answered._

_"So you're all clean then. Good. It's almost bedtime, huh?"_

_"No, Mommy said I can stay up a little more. 'Cause you're here."_

_Lincoln looked up as Lisa came down the hall, her blue shirt now dark blue in places where it was soaked through, wet from giving her son a bath. She had a tired, frustrated look on her face. "LJ, I told you—"_

_"Daddy's here!" LJ replied. "And Uncle Mike!"_

_Lisa sighed. "So they are. I see you guys met Jesse. C'mon inside." She started walking down the hall, passing the bathroom and walking into the main room where the TV was on with the news, and they followed her. _

_"I don't know where we're gonna put you guys," she persisted. "There's the couch, and… Yeah, the couch. Someone's on the floor, I guess."_

_"We'll be fine," Lincoln answered. He grinned at LJ. "Right, buddy?" _

_"Daddy, are we gonna play a game?" the boy asked._

_"Maybe," Lincoln answered. "How about this?" He dipped the little boy down, shifting him in his grip until he was holding him upside down. LJ giggled gleefully. _

_"Lincoln," Lisa objected. She hated it when he held her son upside down. Or when he tossed him up in the air like a football. LJ loved it, but it made her heart skip a beat. _

_"What?" Lincoln asked innocently, holding LJ by his ankles._

_"Can you put him down," she began, "and let me go get clothes on? Maybe you don't mind people running around half naked, but I do."_

_"He's not people. He's four." Lincoln pulled his son upright and set him down on the floor. "Okay, LJ. Mommy says you need clothes. Then we'll play." _

_"Okay," LJ agreed. _

_"I need to get you guys sheets and stuff too," Lisa began, watching LJ walk over to go grab a toy in the corner. "LJ, no, not now."_

_"I'll take him," Michael offered. "So you can get the other stuff." _

_"Really?" Lisa asked. "Okay. Hear that, LJ? Go with Uncle Mike."_

_LJ dropped his toy on the floor and looked up at Michael and his outreached hand. He walked over and held his hand agreeably. "Okay."_

_"I have his pajamas out for him in the bathroom, Michael," Lisa said. "Thank you. You're a saint. Lincoln, let's get you some sheets and stuff."_

_Lincoln watched Michael pick up LJ and walk out of the room down towards the bathroom. "Sorry about this, Lisa. I really appreciate it."_

_"It's not a problem," Lisa answered. "I just have LJ up later than I like to." _

_"Yeah, I know. I probably shouldn't have called, but you know…" Lincoln glanced over at Jesse, who was kind of just standing there, eyes on the television. "So, Jesse… What do you do?"_

_Jesse cleared his throat and looked at Lincoln. "Oh. I just work in marketing. Downtown."_

_"How's that going?"_

_Jesse just nodded. "You know, same old. I don't know. I'm not really in the part of the field I want to be in, but it's a stepping stone."_

_"Yeah." Lincoln suddenly realized Michael was right. This was going to be awkward._

_In the bathroom, Michael was trying to pull a shirt over LJ's head but LJ kept trying to put his head through one of the sleeves. Michael wasn't sure how it was so difficult, but LJ had turned it into a game._

_"We won't have time to play," Michael objected when LJ did it again, "if you don't put it on right."_

_"Are we going to play with Daddy?" LJ asked, only his hair visible through the hole in the shirt._

_"Yeah," Michael answered._

_"Can we do Kleenex again? With all the parts?"_

_"You mean K'Nex," Michael answered, knowing that LJ was talking about the construction game with all the pieces and parts to build models with. He finally pulled the shirt down over the kid's head, feeling a sense of accomplishment. "Put your arms through."_

_LJ put his arms through the sleeves in the shirt. "Is it K'Nex?"_

_"Yeah."_

_LJ smiled. "Can you make the rollercoaster again?"_

_"Maybe. That takes a while though. Might be past our bedtime."_

_"Mommy said I can stay up though."_

_Michael rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but how late? I'm already tired. It'll be past my bedtime."_

_"No. I'm not tired, Uncle Mike."_

_"Of course not. Here. Pants." Michael held out the pajama pants and watched LJ take them and sit down on the floor to pull them on. "We'll see what Daddy thinks, okay?" _

_"Okay."_

_"Daddy's tired too though," Michael persisted. "I bet your mom is too."_

_"No, Mommy and Jesse were going to watch a movie." _

_"Oh." Michael suddenly realized that he and Lincoln were probably interrupting a lot of their evening plans. That was kind of unfortunate. He wondered how Lincoln was doing inside with Lisa and the other man. "That's okay, we'll do something for a little while."_

_"Okay."_

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_


	11. Chapter 11

Can anyone still reading do me a favor? I understand that some chapters are more enjoyable than others. Some just drag on and the story would be the same without them. If I could just know what it is that is enjoyable in this story, so I could focus back on that, it would be really helpful. Sometimes I tend to blur it all together as I'm writing and an outsider POV would be helpful. Any constructive comments are really appreciated, and I think this story needs them.

And on an actually Prison Break note: HOW GOOD WAS THE SEASON PREMIERE? I'm so sad though, due to who they decided to KILL OFF! Which I won't give away in case someone hasn't watched. But I must have had my mouth hanging open for the rest of the show after that.

Thanks to those of you really sticking with me:

ChaiGrl

Emilie

Onari

thinkingJM

and to the rest of you quietly reading, enjoy the new chapter.

**Chapter 11 **

****

_After just a half hour, Lincoln realized that he had no idea why coming to Lisa's had seemed like a good idea. It was the first place he thought of when the electricity was out, despite the bizarreness of it, but now he was regretting it. _

_It was times like this in particular that he wished Veronica hadn't gone so far away to school. That was selfish of him, but she was always the reliable one. He always knew he could count on her. _

_He wasn't sure why watching Michael and LJ with Jesse bothered him so much. He didn't want to admit it was jealousy, but was it? _

_"Lincoln, you're not paying attention," Lisa said with an irritated look on her face. _

_"Sorry," Lincoln answered, turning his attention back to her. He didn't want to be on the couch talking to her, even if it was about a school she was looking into for LJ to start kindergarten at in the fall. He knew it was important, but he wanted to be with Michael and LJ on the floor playing. Instead he had to try to concentrate while he watched Jesse with them. _

_Lisa didn't get it. "This is important." _

_"I know." He gave her an earnest look. "I'm sorry, Lisa. I'm exhausted. I know it's important." _

_"If you want to be included in any of these decisions," she persisted, "then you have to be a little more diligent. Lately… It's like…" _

_He took a deep breath and nodded, swallowing the response he had. But LJ had been excited to see HIM. Had wanted to play with HIM. LJ was half of the reason he'd come over here. The other half was electricity. But now he had to watch LJ laughing at Jesse's Legos creation, clapping his hands excitedly, and Lincoln suddenly felt that pang of jealousy again. _

_"How long have you been dating him?" Lincoln asked in a low voice. _

_Lisa looked at him in surprise. "Jesse?" _

_"Is there another guy too?" _

_She rolled her eyes. "Three months, Lincoln. Why?" _

_"It's just you never mentioned him." _

_"I'm sorry if I don't discuss my love life with you, Lincoln." She gave him a look. "It's never been a subject we handled calmly, for either of us." _

_"How often does he stay here?" _

_She set her jaw, eyeing him carefully. "Why, Lincoln? Why is it any of your business?" _

_"Because it affects my son's life, that's why," he answered stiffly. _

_"You say that as though having a consistent man in his life is a bad thing," she answered. _

_"I just don't even know who he is, Lisa." _

_"What do you need to know?" _

_"I need to know who he is. Spending all this time with LJ." _

_She nodded, a small smirk on her lips. "Is this jealousy, Lincoln? Because he spends more time with LJ now than you do?" _

_Lincoln sat back, surprised at her directness, and gave her a hard look. "Jealousy?" Could he deny it? It seemed so immature, but didn't he have a right to be jealous? He felt he did, it was natural, but he denied it anyway. "I'm not jealous." _

_"No?" _

_"No, Lisa. What's there to be jealous of?" _

_"I don't know, Lincoln. It's just, you come over here this time of night, completely unexpected, and now you start to question the man I'm in a relationship with, and I'm not sure what to say to you." _

_"It's just questions." _

_"No, it's more than that. It's awkward," she admitted. "You and him…? It's just… This is not the day I thought I'd deal with this." _

_"I'm just interested, for LJ." _

_"Interested in what? What more do you need to know than he's a successful man who cares a lot about the both of us?" She'd raised her voice a little and now hesitated, glancing down at the three on the floor. Only Michael had looked up from the bridge he was building for LJ at the sound, but he quickly looked away. "Never mind." _

_"Never mind?" _

_"Lincoln." Her voice grew irritated. "I can't do this. I know how you're going to get, and I can't take your questions right now." _

_"I'm not here to fight with you," Lincoln said, almost in a hiss. "That's not what I came over here for." _

_"No?" she retorted. "Well, maybe you should have expected it, especially seeing the new situation, since all we do is fight, Lincoln." _

_"We don't have to." _

_"Oh, no? Thanks, Lincoln, for your words of wisdom. You're such a hypocrite. You're the one that brought this up. You're the one getting this look in your eye, this tone. This defensiveness that you always get." _

_"I'm not jealous of anybody," Lincoln said. "I'm sorry I even asked who the hell he was, okay? God, Lisa. Forgive me for being fucking curious." _

_"Do not," she began harshly, "use that language with my child in the room." _

_"Your child?" he echoed, eyes widening. "Look, he can't even hear me right now. He's too distracted by your new fuck buddy. And your child?" _

_"Excuse me?" She looked shocked. _

_Lincoln shook his head. "I'm not here to fight you." _

_"What did you just say?" _

_"Nothing." _

_"Is that really what you think of me, Lincoln?" she persisted. "You think that's the type of person I am? This is just another random fling, is that it? You can't take me seriously, so you have to battle everything I do and use LJ as the excuse?" _

_"No, of course not." _

_She sat there quiet for a moment, an insulted look on her face. "He's a really good man, Lincoln… He's got a good job, he's well educated, he comes from a good family…" _

_Lincoln set his jaw, nodding slowly. "Yeah…" _

_She looked up at him. "What? What's that tone, Lincoln?" _

_"There's no tone." _

_"I mean, if you're jealous, it's fine. I'd be jealous of him too. I just want you to say what you're thinking." _

_It made him furious. The accusation, even if he was jealous, was offensive. Who was she to point out all of this man's perfect qualities, make him watch this man with LJ, point out all the ways in which he was inadequate? He told himself he was just taking things too personally. He always took things too personally. _

_Calm down, Lincoln, he reminded himself. But he couldn't. _

_"There's nothing to be jealous of," Lincoln answered. "You're right. All we do is fight, so I'm not even going to bother." _

_"Exactly. Don't bother…" she muttered. "I don't know how anyone puts up with you." _

_"What's that supposed to mean?" _

_She shook her head. "Forget it." She took a deep breath. "It's getting late, Lincoln." _

_"No. You tell me to say what I mean. Why don't you say what you mean? No one can put up with me? What's that?" _

_She just eyed him. "Let's not do this. Not with your brother, LJ, and Jesse here within earshot, Lincoln." _

_"You brought it up." _

_"All I wanted to talk to you about was the school…" she persisted, rolling her eyes. "I shouldn't have even opened my mouth." She pushed herself up off the couch. "It's late." She looked over to the floor and spoke louder. "LJ, honey, it's bedtime." _

_Lincoln was startled at her abrupt desire to leave the room, but said nothing. _

_LJ looked up from his pile of Legos with a surprised expression at his mother's request. "No!" _

_"Honey, it's way past your bedtime already." She gave him a stern look. _

_"But…" _

_"But nothing, honey. C'mon." _

_"But Uncle Mike hasn't finished his bridge," LJ objected, sticking up his lower lip and looking at Michael's unfinished blocks. _

_"Well, it's not Michael's bedtime, it's yours," she answered. _

_"But, Mommy, I—" _

_"LJ, Mommy's tired," Lisa interrupted, shaking her head. "Come on." She gestured at him to get up. _

_Reluctantly, LJ climbed to his feet, looking irritated. He kicked over the blocks as he walked over, breaking apart the ones he'd placed together. _

_"That wasn't very nice," Lisa told him. "We don't kick things when we're angry, LJ." _

_LJ just continued to look angry, his four year old face scrunched up. He kicked another block that was at his feet. _

_"I wonder where you get your temper from," she said sarcastically, glancing at Lincoln on the couch. "Tell Daddy good night." _

_LJ stomped over to Lincoln with the same look on his face and put his hand on Lincoln's knee. "Good night, Daddy." _

_Lincoln pulled him up into his lap and kissed him on the forehead. He wanted to object to Lisa like LJ, because he hadn't even gotten to talk to his own son, but he knew that having split parenting right now would be the last straw and the subtle arguing would turn into an actual fight. _

_"Night, buddy," he said instead, kissing him again and sighing when LJ threw his little arms around his neck. "I love you." _

_LJ slid off his lap and Lincoln watched him leave with Lisa, disappearing out of the room. He just took a deep breath. _

_Jesse started to throw the Legos back into their container. Michael started to help, breaking apart his bridge and gathering up the little pieces around his foot. The room was now awkwardly quiet. _

_"So," Jesse began first, getting up as most of the pieces were picked up, "Lincoln… Mind if I ask what you and Lisa were arguing about?" _

_Lincoln crossed his arms over his chest, studying the man. "Actually, I do. It's kind of between me and Lisa." _

_"Well, she'll simply tell me later," Jesse responded. "It's not as if I haven't heard of you two's problems before. To be honest, after all of it, I'm surprised this is where you chose to come tonight." _

_"She'll just tell you?" Lincoln echoed. "Well, that's nice to know… I'm sure you've heard a lot of one-sided stories then." _

_Jesse shrugged. "Fights are usually pretty subjective. What was your fight about this time?" _

_Lincoln frowned. "I'm not sure what kind of monster she painted me out to be… But me and Lisa get along fine. We didn't work out, and yeah we fight, but we get along fine. Not that it's any of your business." _

_"Well, a man just becomes concerned when he sees his girlfriend upset," Jesse answered. "That's all. She left kind of abruptly for bed, and—" _

_"She wasn't upset. LJ's just up late." _

_"Maybe your perceptiveness is the reason the relationship didn't work out," Jesse answered. He laughed a little bit at his own joke, but then sobered when he saw the look on Lincoln's face. "Joke, Lincoln." _

_"Look, man, if you're trying to start an argument…" _

_Jesse shook his head. "No, definitely not. There doesn't always need to be an argument, you know. I just want to know why you decided to come over here. Seems an odd choice, wanting to shack up at your ex's. Especially when she has a new boyfriend." _

_"Well, unlike the apparently colorful stories of me you've heard," Lincoln answered, "I've never heard of you specifically until today." _

_He shrugged. "Not surprised. I don't see why I would be a subject for you two to discuss. But still, I'm kind of surprised you chose Lisa's as the place to crash." _

_"We have a child, Jesse… Sure we're not dating anymore, and I think we both thank God for that, but we're there for each other." _

_"Yeah, you're always there…" he replied with more sarcasm in his tone. He nodded. "Well, I'm glad at least Lisa can be here for you tonight." _

_Lincoln felt himself boil on the inside. Jesse's patronizingly calm voice was worse than Lisa's accusations. Jealous of this guy? This guy who had a stick of holier-than-thou stick shoved up his ass? _

_Lincoln took a deep breath. "Are you trying to insult me?" _

_"Not intentionally, man. Just trying to joke, but if you take it as an insult—" _

_"Look, in my book if it can be taken as an insult then—" _

_"It's not an insult," Jesse assured with a bit of a smirk. "Just a joke." _

_"I don't see why you feel the right to joke about my relationship with Lisa," Lincoln answered stiffly. "At all." _

_"I see we have a different sense of humor… So, tell me, will they turn your power for tomorrow, or will you have tomorrow night to stress out Lisa a little more?" _

_"Stress?" Lincoln echoed with a frown. He suddenly wanted to talk to Lisa again. What kind of crap was she filling this guy's head with? Did she actually complain to this guy about him? He had to admit, he wouldn't have come over if he knew another boyfriend was over. She could have said something. Why didn't she? _

_Lincoln shook his head. "Man, I don't know what you're trying to get at. Anyway, I'm sure the blackout will only last a night." _

_"See, I'm kind of confused about this blackout too," Jesse persisted. "Because the weather's great, and your brother was just saying before that it was some kind of mix-up with the electric company?" _

_Lincoln's eyes shifted to Michael, who looked startled and then somewhat guilty. "I didn't," Michael objected. "I said the blackout is just not—" _

_"Shut up, Michael," Lincoln said stiffly. _

_Michael bowed his head down, staring at the carpet. _

_"It's just a question," Jesse said. "I'm unfamiliar with blackouts being a mix-up, so I was just wondering what else it might be, or how long it would last." _

_"Listen," Lincoln began, getting up off the couch. "I don't really know what you're trying to get at with all of this, Jesse. I don't know you, I don't care really, but if you want to say something to me, just say it. You don't want me here, then say it." _

_"It's not my place to say. Lisa didn't want to turn you away, and I respect that in her. She's always wanted just to help people out." _

_"So what's your deal then?" _

_"No deal." Jesse shrugged. _

_"Then what's this tone behind everything you're asking me?" _

_"No tone, man. But I did hear my name a few times in your little talk with Lisa, Lincoln, and I'm kind of curious. Wanna tell me what that was about?" _

_Lincoln rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Are you kidding… Man, Lisa and I… Yes, we argue, but it's not like I came over here to specifically argue. I mean, we're not made for each other, we know that, and the thing is… We argue about nothing. So whatever you're concerned about… I mean, I already told you I knew nothing about you." _

_Jesse just nodded, not saying anything. But he had a suspicious look in his eye. _

_"I shouldn't even have to defend myself," Lincoln persisted. _

_"You're concerned about me being around your son," Jesse began. "About another man in his life, okay, I get that. But I'm not gonna lie, man, I wasn't the happiest about you being here either." _

_"Apparently…" Lincoln rolled his eyes. "So what is this? The whole ex thing, or what?" _

_"It's more just curiosity. I mean, your background's interesting… A little different than anyone I know, honestly. And it's just, I've heard about your temper, I've heard about your time in jail, I—" _

_"Are you kidding me?" Lincoln persisted. "This is ridiculous. Does Lisa know you're—" _

_"Look, Lisa and I talked before you came. She's the one that's made me suspicious of you." _

_Lincoln shook his head. "Whatever she's pissed at me for this time, even just showing up tonight, it's not because she doesn't trust me, Jesse. She—" _

_"She's admitted to being afraid of you," Jesse said as he gave him a hard look. "I mean, I'm not saying you had any intentions other than seeing your son and having a place to stay tonight, but—" _

_"But what then? Why are you suddenly insulting me and bringing this all up?" _

_"Maybe I'm approaching this all wrong. I know I don't know everything about you. LJ talks about you a lot. But now that I'm in their lives, I'm just looking out for their best interests. And this as one night is fine. Maybe I should just leave it at that." He started to shake his head. "I probably shouldn't have brought all this up." _

_"No shit, but I think you've said too much to leave it at that," Lincoln answered stiffly. "Sure you don't want to insult me anymore? Tell me how you don't trust me?" _

_"I'm not trying to insult you, Lincoln. I'm glad that I finally get to meet you and put a name to the face. It's not often you hear so much about an ex of your current partner, but you being the father of LJ, I guess it changes things, and I've had to adjust to that. But meeting you is good. You're…" He laughed. "You are tough looking, like I thought." _

_"Tough looking?" _

_"Well, you just look like you can handle yourself, that's all." _

_"Handle myself?" _

_Jesse shook his head, laughing again. "Forget it." _

_Lincoln felt judged, and he didn't like it one bit. He wasn't sure why Jesse had brought up the things he had, but again he didn't know the man at all, and didn't know what kind of way he had with conversations and meeting people. And he had no idea what kind of things Lisa had told the man, whether they were in passing or after particular arguments and fights. He only hoped she didn't say things in front of LJ. _

_"Okay," Jesse said, looking away from Lincoln's sharp gaze. "On that note, I guess I've said too much already… I'll be upstairs…" _

_He began to walk around Lincoln, towards the doorway, but Lincoln stopped him, grabbing his arm. "You can't leave it at that." _

_Jesse looked down at Lincoln's grip. "Don't touch me, man…" _

_Lincoln didn't let go. "You don't insult somebody, you don't bring all of this up without resolution, and then just leave it. Is this how you treat all of Lisa's friends?" Lincoln asked. _

_"Friends that have upset Lisa?" Jesse began. "Well, you're really the only one of those I've met." He pushed Lincoln off of him. "And I don't know if I'd define you as a close friend." _

_Lincoln pushed him back, glaring. The man took a step back, looking slightly unnerved, and Lincoln continued. "Maybe she discusses with you the problems we've had," he began, "and maybe you think I'm at fault for everything that's ever happened, but—" _

_"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Jesse interrupted, shaking his head. _

_"To be honest, whether you respect me or not," Lincoln began, "I don't really give a shit. But the insults…" _

_"Again, not trying to insult you." Jesse shrugged. "Just trying to figure you out. But if you feel insulted—" _

_"Trying to figure me out? How does blatantly saying you don't trust me and think I'm a pain in the ass to your girlfriend when you've known me for not even an hour help to figure me out?" _

_Jesse paused, brow furrowing. _

_"Huh?" Lincoln insisted, shoving the man again. "How does that figure me out?" _

_Jesse shook his head. "I think this would all be better if we simply agree to disagree, and say good night." _

_"Disagree about what?" _

_"Lincoln," Michael spoke up. _

_"Not now, Michael," Lincoln answered. _

_"Stop, Lincoln," Michael insisted. _

_"Your brother's right," Jesse said stiffly, walking around the man as Lincoln's gaze shifted to Michael. "I'll be with Lisa." _

_Lincoln fumed, watching him leave the room and holding himself back from continuing the conversation. _

_"Michael," Lincoln began, giving his brother a stern look. "I don't like you contradicting me. Get up, we're going." _

_"Why?" Michael asked with a frown. _

_"Do you need a reason? Just get up, get your stuff, and let's go," Lincoln snapped. _

_Michael got up from the floor. "Lincoln, I think—"_

_"You can tell me what you think when we're outside," Lincoln answered abruptly. He looked at the stationary Michael and waved him towards his backpack. "God, Michael. Don't look at me like a deer in headlights. Come on." _

_Michael reluctantly walked over to pick up his backpack, watching Lincoln throw his own bag over his shoulder. He followed his brother towards the front door, not saying anything. As soon as they got outside though, he opened his mouth again. _

_"Shouldn't you tell someone you're leaving?" _

_Lincoln shook his head as he went down the front steps. "I'm obviously not welcome here." _

_"You shouldn't have pushed him around like that." _

_Lincoln looked at Michael, giving him a frown. "He shouldn't have pushed me." _

_"But, I don't know. I just don't think it was really the way to handle it." They crossed the street, heading to the sidewalk. _

_Lincoln just shook his head. "I wanted to slug him, to be honest. Be happy I didn't decide to do that." _

_"But why would you?" _

_"He insulted me, Michael. You don't do that when someone's been around you for no more than a half hour. Right?" _

_"I know, but… I think Lisa probably just complained to him about when you guys were fighting, and he's probably just jealous about old stuff, and LJ, and being in the same place probably… and, I don't know." _

_Lincoln gave his little brother an incredulous look. "Are you defending him?" _

_"No…" Michael muttered. _

_"Then what? Sounds like you are." _

_He sighed. "Lincoln…" he trailed off. _

_"Well, it sure sounds like it," Lincoln snapped. "Giving him reasons…" _

_"I'm just trying to… to rationalize it…" Michael answered gently. _

_"I don't need you rationalizing, or contradicting, or anything." _

_They were silent for a few minutes, Lincoln taking deep breaths as they walked down the dark street on the sidewalk. After a moment, Lincoln remembered something turned, slapping Michael upside the head. "And what about the blackout, Mike?" _

_"Ow…" Michael objected, caught off guard. He rubbed at his head irritably. "Lincoln." _

_"What was our plan, Michael?" _

_Michael just winced and stopped walking. "What?" _

_Lincoln stopped as well and turned to face him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why'd you tell him different about the power?" _

_Michael made a face. "He asked about it, and I just said it was a mix-up. And he asked how a black-out's a mix-up, and I didn't know… It was just… Nothing, really." _

_"Well, a nothing he brought up again, huh?" _

_Michael shrugged. "So?" _

_"So why's it a mix-up, Michael?" _

_"I didn't know why the whole black out story was so important…" _

_"It's important in the sense it doesn't add more fuel to the fire, you understand?" Lincoln answered harshly. _

_"Well, if it's your fault we don't have power, then it's your fault," Michael responded. _

_Lincoln stared at him. "My fault… My fault, Michael?" _

_Slightly afraid of what he'd just said, Michael started walking again, at a swifter pace, shaking his head. "I'm not fighting with you too, Lincoln." _

_"Michael," Lincoln objected. After a second, he sighed and started to walk behind his brother to keep up. _

_"No," Michael persisted. _

_"You know running away makes things worse," Lincoln answered. "You know that." _

_"I don't want to fight," Michael answered. _

_"We won't." Lincoln widened his strides and in a few seconds was close enough to grab Michael by the arm, pulling him back to face him. "Listen to me. Don't walk away in the middle of a conversation." _

_"It's not going to be a conversation, it's gonna be an argument." Michael yanked his arm back and glared at Lincoln with icy blue eyes. He started to walk again. _

_"Michael, I mean it." Lincoln continued to walk with him. _

_"You're still mad at him, or her, or me," Michael answered, "and I don't want to talk about it now while you're mad." _

_Lincoln grabbed his arm again. "Michael. I don't want you to run away from me. Please." _

_Michael turned and looked at him, taking a deep, frustrated breath. Lincoln's voice was slightly calmer now, trying to be convincing. _

_"We won't argue," Lincoln said. "I'm sick of arguing. Jesse wore me out." _

_"Even with what I said about the power…" Michael persisted. _

_"I just don't know why you said it." _

_"It's not my fault." _

_"It is when you contradict me right in front of Jesse, and undermine—" Lincoln cut himself off when Michael started to pull away again and sighed, pulling him back. "Kid… Stop." _

_"Stop blaming me," Michael said, a frustrated look on his face. _

_Lincoln took a deep breath as well and let go of Michael's sleeve. "Fine. I'm sorry. It's stupid. It's really stupid, with the blackout thing, and I don't know why I thought pretending we're fucked over for another reason would make things better," Lincoln continued. "It's stupid." _

_Michael nodded. _

_"I'm just mad, not at you. I won't get mad at you. I promise." _

_Michael just looked at him. _

_"He just wanted to challenge me," Lincoln said. "And I just took it all personally." He shook his head. "And I'm angry at him, not you. And I'll stop. But fuck…. Is he not an asshole…?" _

_"Well, he wasn't…" Michael admitted with a shrug. "He turned into one." He looked around the empty, dark street and wondered how long they would be out here. He wanted to go home now, even if it was dark there too. _

_"I don't know what he wanted." Lincoln rubbed a hand over his head. "God, I don't know how Lisa chooses the men she dates…" _

_"Are we going home?" Michael replied, tired of talking about it. He knew that the more they talked about Jesse, and why Lincoln had decided to leave, the more it would just raise the same irritation and anger as it had the first time. And he didn't care enough to analyze Lincoln and Jesse's lack of communication skills for that to happen. _

_"Yeah," Lincoln sighed. "Home. We could try to stay with one of my friends downtown that—" _

_"No," Michael objected. He was sick of Lincoln's suggestions. "I want to go home." _

_"Okay." Lincoln studied his brother and then cursed under his breath. "I forgot about school for you tomorrow. Midterms." He rolled his eyes. "If you fail, I'm so at fault." _

_"I won't fail," Michael answered. "It's only calculus." _

_"Only…" Lincoln muttered. "I never even took Calc." He paused. "You wanna go back over to your friend's house? The one that you had dinner at?" _

_Michael looked at him like he was crazy. "It's late." _

_"Yeah." _

_"You can't just show up at someone's house…" _

_"So I've learned." _

_"We'll just go home." _

_"Where we tried to leave," Lincoln replied. "Fucking great how things work out." _

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o _

_Michael and Lincoln made it home without talking about the events at Lisa's, and Michael thanked God for that. Instead they talked about a movie that was coming out, and before they knew it they were back home. _

_Michael walked into the apartment slowly, looking around the dark room. _

_"It's weird," he said. _

_"Yeah." Lincoln locked the door behind them and then nearly walked into Michael in the dark. "It's kinda creepy, huh, pal?" _

_Michael still had movies on his mind. "Remember that movie… And she comes back and the psycho killer had cut the power cords outside? And she thinks it's just the fuse box or something, because there's a bad storm outside. But with the storm, she can't hear when he comes in… And then she turns on the faucet, and blood starts pouring everywhere…" _

_"Mike." Lincoln patted him on the back. "I think you're mixing up a few movies. Stop." _

_Michael walked towards the window to look outside. "If we had a security system, it wouldn't work right now." _

_"But we don't have a security system. I'm the security system… And I don't think there's any psycho killers around here either." Lincoln yawned. "No horror movies." _

_"It is kind of like a horror movie though." Michael sat on the couch, setting his bag beside him. _

_"Yeah, except for the whole not paying the electric bill part…" _

_"Yeah…" Michael watched Lincoln yawn again. "I don't know still if I'll wake up on time…" _

_Lincoln paused. "Yeah. That…" He closed his eyes for a moment. "There's still Veronica…" _

_"I have a wristwatch… It's just… It barely makes a sound." Michael shrugged. _

_"I need to call her anyway…" Lincoln responded. "See the matches in front of you on the table? Light the candles." _

_Michael felt around the table for them and located them. The dim moonlight helped a little bit. _

_"Your next assignment, if you choose to accept it," Lincoln began tiredly, watching in the shadows as Michael tried to light a match. "That flashlight." _

_"What flashlight?" Michael it the candle and blew out the match. _

_"You know. You had it last. For that stupid sun project." _

_Michael at him incredulously. "Lincoln. The sun and the moon project? Yeah, I was twelve." _

_"Well, that was the last time I saw the flashlight, and you had it," Lincoln persisted. "I looked for it earlier but didn't see it." _

_"Lincoln…" _

_"Well, you musta put it somewhere when you were done with it." _

_"Done with it when I was twelve?" _

_"Fine, then don't. But I bet it's buried under your shit in the closet." _

_"Most of that shit is yours," Michael persisted. "You only pretend it's mine when you want me to go through it." _

_"Same difference. Mine is yours, Michael. Especially during spring cleaning." Lincoln sighed. "Okay, time to face up to Veronica. And Lisa'll call tomorrow, I bet," Lincoln persisted as started for the kitchen. "That'll be fun, huh?" _

_Michael just put one of his feet up on the coffee table and shook his head as Lincoln disappeared, wondering why girls bothered with his brother at all. _

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o _


	12. Chapter 12

**So when was the last time this story saw the light of present day? Yeah it's been a few long chapters, I think. Pure laziness on my part. Part of me wants to jump right into the real "present" of the show, and show them on the run, but I think I'll hold back a little bit before doing that. I've been trying to do the present day consecutively, even though the past ones jump all over.**

**I do really like just doing the flashbacks, but I started this story with the intent of having both and I'll try to stick with that. Thanks to those of you who reviewed and suggested that, you're absolutely right.**

**Writer's block hit me a little bit with this one, but I am still continuing it. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed.**

**--------------------------------------- **

**Chapter 12**

Today PI was in charge of yard work. Michael was relieved; not just to be outside, but also because he wasn't sure he could take anymore of the smell of that horrible paint they'd been using recently inside. He did agree that most of Fox River was in serious need of a paint job, but the amount of time they spent painting one room the same foul color was infuriating.

That could for the most part be attributed to how slowly most of the inmates on PI worked. He couldn't blame them. PI broke up the day, but there wasn't much of an incentive to get anything done quickly or well.

Michael had different reasons for being on PI, so the slowness allowed him time to think. To plan and coordinate their next moves.

It was in PI that he could make his connections and deals and eventually do the work they needed to do. It would all come in time.

"Scofield!" barked Bellick from a distance. "Quit daydreaming and get back to work!"

Michael blinked, looking up at Bellick for a moment before back at his stationary rake. He hadn't moved for maybe a minute, but it was enough for Bellick to notice.

"Scofield… Quit daydreaming," came a deep, teasing voice beside him.

Michael looked up at Lincoln and narrowed his eyes, wondering for a moment to himself how Lincoln found it so easy to just joke about things inside these walls. But he could think of lots of times where Lincoln didn't take things seriously, so he figured it was no different now.

"Notices everything I do," Michael replied. "It's really not funny."

"That's his job…" Lincoln replied, clearing his throat.

"Not like this though." Michael glanced back towards the CO, but Bellick's attention was diverted now, talking to another guard. "He watches me all the time."

"Michael. He watches _everybody_."

"Not like this." He looked back at Lincoln, brow furrowing. "He's always watching like he knows."

Lincoln just shrugged, dragging his rake across the ground.

Michael persisted. "He was there. When this happened." He indicated his foot.

Lincoln looked up. "When Abruzzi…" he began. His eyes darkened as he looked up across the yard at Bellick himself. "No. Really?"

"Yeah." Michael studied Lincoln. "It's not like you actually ever respected Bellick. Why do you look surprised?"

"Not really surprised," Lincoln answered. "I think he's an asshole just like anyone else in here. It's just sometimes the level of corruptness in here is a little overwhelming."

"Well…" Michael shrugged. "Yeah."

"Just, oh well, yeah?" Lincoln persisted. "Not at all shocking to you?"

"No."

Lincoln looked amused. "What? Nothing? You knew from day one everything, is that it? About every inmate, every guard… Every _doctor_."

"No. That's not what I said. But there have been some reports on the news of certain activities in here. I'm not oblivious."

"Certain activities."

Michael shrugged.

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Alright."

"What? I didn't come in completely naïve, Linc."

"No, but you can react, Michael. All you are is this machine that plans and knows. Don't you get tired?"

"No." Michael paused. "Why did you expect me to be completely ignorant about what it would be like?"

"I didn't. I knew you'd do your research. I mean… I knew?" Lincoln rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. "Why are you phrasing it like I would've expected this? You in here? But I don't think you ever could guess every detail."

"It's not guessing, Lincoln."

"No, I suppose not. You look through everything, don't you…" Lincoln rolled his eyes again. "Michael the genius."

"I'm no genius. I just don't think you understand," Michael replied. "I knew Bellick before I got in here."

Lincoln nodded. "Okay. I believe you."

"Then what?"

"I don't know what you're trying to prove," Lincoln answered. "And least of all, why you're trying to prove it to me."

"I'm not trying to prove anything," Michael answered. "I'm just trying to figure out why he watches me constantly."

"So it being his job isn't a good enough explanation?"

"No. It's different. The questions he asks. Everything." Michael paused. "It's like he knows something is going on."

"Well…" Lincoln replied. "It's in our best interest that he doesn't know something is going on."

"I know."

"But you are unusual. I'm sure the suspicion has to do with that… Not because he suspects anything in particular."

"Unusual?"

"Well, not typical."

"Again…"

"Michael." Lincoln gave him a trying look. "Do you really think you represent the average inmate? How many of the guys in here do you think went to college?" He smirked. "Or graduated Magnum Cum Laude."

"It's Magna, Lincoln. Not Magnum."

"Magnum always just sounds better."

"Whatever, Lincoln," Michael muttered, feeling slightly exasperated.

"Just because I like to say it magnum doesn't mean I'm not proud."

Michael wanted to change the subject. He didn't want to hear Lincoln's awkward sentiments, mostly because it concerned him and made him nervous. He was in essence the reason why Lincoln was in here. He was certain of it, but wouldn't dare try to explain to Lincoln that he felt that way. Lincoln would inevitably deny it, which would only make Michael feel guiltier. Just like how Lincoln saying he was proud of him made him feel guilty.

"I am," Lincoln insisted when Michael hadn't replied. Michael's eyes were across the yard, staring at the building. He had that brooding, far off look starting to come over him, and he sighed, for the millionth time in his life wishing he could be inside his brother's head, even if just for a moment. If only just to see what it was like in there.

"Bellick needs something else to think about," Michael spoke up. "They all do."

"No one's ever broken out, Michael. I doubt they expect you to."

"There's a suspicion. Of something. They just don't know _what _yet." Michael paused. "Yet being the key word." He dragged his rake against the ground distractedly. "But they know it's something."

"Does the Pope?"

Michael looked back at Lincoln. "Hm?"

"I hear you spend a lot of time in there. What's that about?"

Michael shrugged. "A fortunate addition to the plan."

"What kind of addition? What kind of stuff do you do in there?"

Michael took a deep breath. "Are people talking about it, really?"

"Well, it's not every day that the warden has an inmate coming to his office," Lincoln answered. "It's a little different. That whole not typical thing again."

"Well..." Michael shrugged.

Lincoln studied him, frowning. He coughed again and said, "You know, Michael… You have to be careful. Any kind of…" He paused. "The point is to blend in, not stand out. The guys in here see you here, how long, already just buddies with the warden? Doesn't make you many friends."

"I don't need friends. I need—"

"No, Michael. You do."

"I don't. I have what I need."

"It's not so much about needing friends. It's about not needing enemies."

"I'll be fine."

"Says the boy with eight toes."

Michael narrowed his eyes. "I'm fine. Still standing. And for your information, Abruzzi's all part of the team plan. He's not the problem… Haywire's the problem. Bellick's the problem. Being behind schedule is the problem."

"Sure." Lincoln sighed. He didn't expect any different from Michael. Mr. Plans. Of course nothing irrelevant to the plan was a noticeable problem. There was nothing Lincoln could really do. He couldn't protect him from behind death row, from his separate cell block. As much as he wanted to look after him, he couldn't. Michael had been independent for a while now.

Lincoln sighed. "Well, answer my question at least."

"About the warden?"

"Yeah."

Michael's expression was calm. "He needs help. So if I need help, there's some leverage."

"Help with what?"

Michael smirked a little. "He's making this thing for his wife." His eyes flickered across the yard again, eyeing the guards. Then he met Lincoln's gaze again. "It's a… a model of the Taj Mahal."

"A model," Lincoln echoed. "Of the Taj Mahal."

Michael nodded. "It's for their anniversary."

"Interesting. So you…"

"He knew that I knew something about structural engineering…" Michael shrugged. "It's kind of like a favor."

"What are you getting in return?"

"Nothing yet. But I will."

"Well, now I know what they mean about you being his pet," Lincoln replied, rolling his eyes. "Just trust me, Mike, you better get something out of that."

"He trusts me."

Lincoln nodded. "Right. A warden trusting an inmate. That makes you a real favorite."

"Lincoln." Michael rolled his eyes. He frowned as Lincoln coughed again. "Are you sick?"

Lincoln shrugged, making a face. "I don't know. Might be a cold."

Michael wanted to ask if getting really sick would affect an execution, but didn't want to actually say it aloud. He remembered reading something about that, but wasn't exactly sure. Instead he looked back across the PI group at Bellick, and caught his eye for a brief second.

He looked away quickly. For a moment he considered again telling Lincoln how Bellick seemed to know when he was up to something. Like how he found him looking in the masonry section of the chemical storage room, when he was trying to get the necessary chemicals to burn through a pipe, not believing his cover of getting fertilizer for yard work. The pain from Bellick crushing down on his injured foot purposefully was fresher in his mind than the worry of the man finding him there, but both were a concern.

Before he could say anything else, the guards were yelling orders to bring equipment back inside. PI was over. Michael frowned as he saw people starting to walk back towards the building.

Lincoln cleared his throat and gave Michael a slap on the shoulder. "See you tomorrow, man."

"I'm going into the pipes soon," Michael said quickly, looking up at him as he started to walk away.

Lincoln glanced around them, looking back at his brother, surprised at the indulged information. "Soon?"

Michael nodded. "I just need a couple things to figure out."

Lincoln just blinked. It worried him, this plan. No one had ever done anything like this, so how was Michael going to pull it off? Michael and prison seemed like the two most contradicting things. How could he pull off something like that in a place so foreign?

"C'mon!" a guard yelled. "Get it together!"

"Be careful, Michael," Lincoln said. "That's all I can say."

"I am."

"Good." He nodded and walked away from his brother.

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

_It was the day after the lights being turned off and the fiasco at Lisa's. Lincoln got home tiredly from work at about three and was pleased to see the lights on. He'd called that morning with his credit card to get it figured out and they said they would turn the electricity on in just a few hours. He'd also convinced them to waive the late fee since it was the first time something like this had happened._

_The phone began ringing just minutes after he'd gotten home. He rubbed at his face in exhaustion as he made his way to the kitchen to answer it. He felt even more stressed than he normally did that day, worried about Mike at school and their finances, and just life in general._

_"Hello?" he answered the phone._

_"I was hoping you'd be home," came Lisa's voice on the other end of the line. She didn't sound pleased. "I think we need to talk."_

_"Okay."_

_"What's this about you threatening Jesse?"_

_"Threatening him?" Lincoln echoed. He leaned against the counter and suddenly wished he'd gotten home ten minutes later, to miss this phone call. "I didn't threaten him."_

_"That's not what he says. He says you physically threatened him, and you pushed him around."_

_"Well, he wasn't exactly the most welcoming, Lisa."_

_"So you did," she insisted. "You pushed him around. Why do you have to bully everybody, Lincoln?"_

_"I don't," Lincoln replied. _

_"You do. You just push everyone around. It's how you get by."_

_"That's ridiculous."_

_"No, it's not. You always have to be in control, Lincoln. Look at you and the people in your life. They'd all agree. Look at Michael. I bet he'd agree."_

_"That's bullshit, Lisa. And as for Jesse, you didn't hear what he said to me, Lisa. It was insulting, it was combative. I don't know what you've told him about me but—"_

_"I've never told him anything but the truth. Regardless of that, Lincoln, it's words. Words. You don't beat people up over words."_

_"I didn't beat anyone up," Lincoln answered, rolling his eyes._

_"Every time I see you, or talk to you now, it's an argument," she persisted. "And you know what? I know things didn't work out, but I still always felt the need to defend you. You know that? But I'm not sure I feel that way anymore."_

_"Defend me? I don't need anybody to defend me."_

_"Exactly. There's nothing to defend," she replied. "The way you handled yourself is wrong, Lincoln. I don't care if you felt like Jesse insulted you. You were in my home, and that was my boyfriend, and you have no right to push him around because you feel insecure."_

_"I'm not insecure. I just don't care for someone I don't know insulting me and my family. My background. He knows nothing about me. The moment you left, he jumped down my throat, Lisa. I don't think you understand that. Put yourself in my shoes."_

_"Nothing you can say will sufficiently defend pushing someone around, Lincoln. You can talk things through you know, without being a punk."_

_"You weren't there, Lisa…"_

_"No, I wasn't. But I think your actions speak for themselves. It's inexcusable.."_

_"I'm not going to try to even explain myself, if you want even consider his part in it," he answered. "This is ridiculous. Your boyfriend feels the need to insult me. Fine. Shows his character."_

_"There's nothing wrong with his character, Lincoln. Just because he doesn't think highly of you—"_

_"Oh, God, he doesn't?" Lincoln retorted sarcastically. "I'm shocked. I'm hurt…"_

_"Oh, shove it, Lincoln. You're so immature. You'd think with what's on your plate you would handle yourself a little bit better."_

_"I handle myself fine."_

_"Yeah? That's why Jesse thinks you're wild? That's why he thinks that you shouldn't be around us? Shouldn't be around LJ?"_

_Lincoln felt himself boil. "He what?" He swallowed. " He has no fucking right to judge me. Judge me at all. LJ is my son. I—"_

_"Well, it's a little concerning when you can't even have a conversation like a grown man. When you shove someone around and then split in the middle of the night. I mean, that's real classy behavior right there, Lincoln."_

_"You know, I get the feeling that you didn't want me there at all last night," Lincoln said. "In fact, it's pretty obvious. So you know, next time why don't you just be fucking honest, Lisa? I thought of you first because I trust you, but you're never honest."_

_"I'm being honest right now."_

_"No, you're being angry and judgmental. You never tell anybody what you think. You go along with what they want you to do. It's the story of your life. Just stand up for yourself. Even to this Jesse guy, I mean, Jesus, it's like I'm talking to him right now."_

_She paused for a moment, silent. "Lincoln, I don't think you should contact me for a while."_

_"That's bullshit. Not contact you? That means not see LJ? You can't punish me for an argument with your boyfriend and take away my son, Lisa. You—"_

_"You're giving me no reason to want you around here," she answered stiffly. _

_"How about the fact I'm his father."_

_"Father's aren't always needed," she said irritably. "Why don't you think about that?"_

_He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "What does that even mean, Lisa?"_

_"I called simply to tell you that I'd rather not hear from you for a while," she continued in a low voice. "I need a break."_

_"Fine, don't hear from me. But I'm seeing LJ. I need to see LJ."_

_"I need some time. I'll let you know. I think we all need a break."_

_"Don't turn this into a fight about LJ, Lisa," Lincoln persisted, now a little bit desperate. "I don't think you understand." _

_She hesitated. "Lincoln… If he means that much to you… Then… Then you have to make some effort here."_

_"I am."_

_"How?"_

_"I am, Lisa. I am. He's everything. Honestly. I mean, you can't just tell me he doesn't need me "If you hated me this much, then why did you ever get involved with me in the first place?"_

_She didn't answer for a moment. Then she said, a little gently, "I don't hate you, Lincoln," barely audible. "And to be honest, I don't know why I was ever involved with you. I just can't handle this. And you know it was a mistake. We both love LJ, but it was a mistake. Neither of us can—"_

_"I can handle it."_

_"You can barely handle Michael," she answered. "You can barely handle your own life. How—"_

_"I handle us fine. I can handle Michael fine. Michael's perfect. He doesn't do anything, it's me. I'm trying. But I'm telling you, you can't turn your back on me as the father. Not now. That's not your place." _

_"I'm not turning my back on you."_

_"You are."_

_"No. I'm saying I need space. And I do."_

_Lincoln was caught between wanting to fight her and just wanting to give up. He heard the door slam inside and knew Michael was home. He swallowed and glanced at the clock on the wall. "I'm not going to fight you right now, Lisa, okay?"_

_"Okay. Fine."_

_"But we need to talk. And actually talk. Once we both calm down."_

_"I know," she admitted._

_"Ignoring it and taking a break doesn't make it go away."_

_"I know."_

_Lincoln looked up as Michael entered the kitchen. His little brother looked rather happy and Lincoln gave him a quizzical look._

_"The lights are on," Michael said._

_Lincoln nodded, watching him toss his bag on a chair at the table. "Look, Lisa. We'll talk soon. I'm sorry about last night."_

_"Wow, an apology, Lincoln. I was hoping but not expecting." She paused for a moment and then said, "I'm sorry too. For Jesse, if he did insult you... But he is a good man. You need to realize that. It's hard, you know."_

_"I know." He sighed. "Alright, we both can't do this now. You know that. Tell LJ hi."_

_"I will…. Okay…. Well, bye, Lincoln."_

_"Bye." Lincoln shook his head and hung up the phone, closing his eyes for a moment. He wished he could erase the past week. In fact, there were a lot of weeks he wished he could erase._

_"How long's it been back?" _

_"Huh?" Lincoln opened his eyes at Michael's voice. "How long what, man?"_

_"The lights." Michael opened the refrigerator and looked at the food inside. "Is any of it still good?"_

_"I don't know."_

_Michael pulled out a container of milk and took off the cap, taking a big sniff of it. He frowned. "I can't tell."_

_"It's probably fine."_

_"Okay, well you try it first then," Michael answered warily, putting it back in the fridge. He grabbed a can of soda and then slowly asked. "Is Lisa mad? About last night?"_

_"I don't know." Lincoln sighed._

_"Well, you just talked to her…"_

_"I know, but… Look… Forget it. How was your test?"_

_Michael shrugged. "Easy."_

_"Really? Are you just saying that? Because I've been thinking about that all day."_

_Michael rolled his eyes, opening the can of soda. "It was easy. You can't study for math anyway, Lincoln. It's like… You know it or you don't."_

_"Good…" Lincoln paused. "You have another one tomorrow?"_

_"Yeah."_

_Lincoln nodded, feeling the countertop pressing into his back. He watched Michael go to the cabinet and pull out a box of cereal. "Mike, do I ask you enough about school, man?"_

_Michael made a face. "What do you mean?"_

_"Well… I don't know... I just feel like I don't even know what you're doing at school. I see your grades, and other than that…"_

_Michael sat down at the table. He dug his hand into the box of cereal and pulled out a handful. "Are you supposed to know?"_

_"I don't know. Mom always used to ask me what I was doing at school. She'd always know if I had a test or something. And, I mean, I didn't even know you were in midterms."_

_Michael shrugged, thinking about how Sean's mom had known right away they were in midterms week. "I don't know. You're not mom."_

_"No," Lincoln agreed. "But you can tell me… Like if stuff's going on."_

_Michael smirked. "Alright…" he said slowly._

_"What?" Lincoln answered, picking up on his slightly cynical tone. _

_Michael shrugged again. "I don't know… I mean, come on, Lincoln… You don't really care."_

_"I do."_

_Michael gave him a look. "Right. I don't even care. Why should you?"_

_"Because." Lincoln frowned. He realized he didn't have a very good reason. Saying that he felt he was obligated to care wasn't really a good explanation. "I do though. But forget it. By the way, I have to go back to work at about seven. You'll be okay?"_

_"Yeah." Michael stuck his hand back into the box of cereal. "There's lights."_

_They were quiet for a couple minutes. Lincoln watched the phone for a moment, thinking about the conversation he'd just had with Lisa and the one he'd had last night with Veronica. He wished both of them would think better of him. He supposed he hadn't given them a reason to._

_Lincoln listened to the sound of the crinkling cereal bag inside the box as his brother stuck his hand in there again. "Mike." He paused. "Do you think I push people around?"_

_Michael looked up at him, looking a little amused. He wasn't sure what to make of all of these sudden questions from Lincoln. He wasn't accustomed to his brother being so introspective. "Huh?"_

_"Well, I was just talking to Lisa. And she said I always push people around," Lincoln replied. "What do you think?"_

_Michael conveniently filled his mouth with cereal so that he didn't have to answer right away. Then after a moment he simply replied, "I don't know. What do you think?"_

_"You do know though. Who better to ask than you? Go ahead. Do I push you around?"_

_Michael just made a face. "I don't know."_

_"Does that mean yes? Because if it was no, you would say no, wouldn't you?"_

_"Was she mad about Jesse?"_

_"She's always just mad about something," Lincoln answered. "She'll get over it. That guy's a total dick."_

_"Yeah."_

_"Would you tell me if I push you around all the time?"_

_"You don't all the time," Michael objected. _

_"Sometimes?"_

_"Lincoln. Why are you asking me this?"_

_"Because, I want to know if I'm really this terrible, bossy, control freak that Lisa says I am."_

_"You're not terrible."_

_"Am I a bossy control freak?"_

_Michael laughed. "No, Lincoln. Stop."_

_"I am though. I always tell you what to do."_

_"You're supposed to tell me what to do… You're older." _

_"Yeah."_

_Michael frowned. "I don't get what this is all about." _

_"I'm just pissed about last night still. And Lisa thinking I'm a terrible person."_

_"You're not a terrible person."_

_"Thanks, man. At least I have your back." Lincoln sighed. "What bothers me the most is how she's using LJ as leverage. It's like… Fuck... She can't do that."_

_"What do you mean like leverage?"_

_Lincoln rubbed at his jaw, frowning. "Nah, forget it. I can't keep going on like this. I don't even have a point." He pushed himself away from the counter with a sigh. "I'm gonna take a shower."_

_Michael didn't say anything, watching Lincoln leave with a similar frown. He had hoped that Lincoln was opening up to him a little bit and would tell him something. Anything at all really about what was going on with him. Michael sometimes wanted to call Veronica to find out, because Lincoln always talked to her, always poured his guts out to her. He heard them on the phone, catching bits and pieces of Lincoln's hushed voice. _

_He was hoping he'd get the same kind of candidness. But as usual, Lincoln cut himself off from being too forthcoming and backed away._

_Michael realized that ever since he was little, Lincoln pretended nothing was the matter to him. He was always bad at it, his true feelings riding close to the surface, but Michael was now old enough to realize how much of Lincoln's life was actually just trying to feign someone else's normalcy._

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

It was raining. So instead of yard work, they were back inside, painting. Even the smell of the paint and the monotone colors couldn't ruin Michael's mood though. Things were going well. Things were going according to plan. Finally.

He grabbed two cans of paint from the storage closet with a small smile on his face. He was just leaving the closet when he nearly ran into Lincoln.

"There you are," Lincoln said. He studied his brother's face, immediately noticing a small bandage just above his eye. "What happened?"

"What?" Michael stood there confused, a holding the handle of a can of paint in each hand. He hadn't expected to nearly run into his brother.

Lincoln reached out and took his chin, angling his brother's face to see the injury better, but Michael pulled away with an sharp, "Stop it, Lincoln," before he could really judge how bad it was.

"Who?" Lincoln asked, voice growing cold.

Michael shook his head.

"Who?" Lincoln persisted. "Who was it this time? Give me a name."

Michael was a little bit amused at the spark of rage in Lincoln's eyes. It always felt good to have someone be so protective, as much as it was somewhat of an aggravation as well.

"What's that smirk for?" Lincoln answered. "Who hit you?"

"No one," Michael replied. "Sucre is back."

"Sucre is what?" Lincoln shook his head. "One thing at a time. Seriously, who was it this time? I told you. You need to watch your back, Michael. You need to take this seriously and—"

"It's nothing. And Sucre is back as my cellmate. Came back and Haywire's back in psych." He smiled. "We're gonna be back on schedule."

"Who touched you?"

"Lincoln. For God's sake."

"I need to know. Was it Abruzzi again?" Lincoln clenched his teeth. "I'm going to rip his fucking head off."

"No." Michael shook his head. Then he admitted, "I did it."

"What?"

Michael handed him a can of paint. "Come on."

Lincoln caught Michael's arm as he started to walk past him. "Hold up. You did what?"

"This." Michael indicated the bandage. "And it's nothing. So calm down, Lincoln."

"How?"

Michael rolled his eyes. "It's just a small scratch to show that Haywire isn't suited for gen pop."

Lincoln looked confused.

Michael his head again. "Seriously, Linc. It's nothing. No one did anything."

"Because if they did—"

"I know." Michael walked past him, following the other inmates down the hall. He thought about Sara's reaction to the bruise, telling him he was going to get himself killed. Then he kind of felt himself get nervous, thinking of his follow-up response. Asking her to go out with him when he got out alive.

"You'd tell me?" Lincoln persisted, following Michael down the hall.

"Yes," Michael agreed, clearing his thoughts.

"And what was the noise coming from your cell block last night?"

"You heard that?" Michael glanced at him.

"Yeah. It was pretty loud."

Michael smiled again. "Just a little distraction Sucre created for me when—"

"Wait, you guys were responsible for that?"

"It was the noise cover for me." Michael lowered his voice. "I'm through the wall, Lincoln."

Lincoln stared at him for a moment, and then smiled a little. "Really?"

"Really." Michael nodded.

"So this is happening."

"I told you it would."

Lincoln took a deep breath. "Okay." He looked down the hall at the other inmates, a mixture of feelings within him. "Okay, good."

"C'mon," Michael insisted again, continuing down the hall. "We can't talk about it now."

Lincoln nodded him. He had nothing to say now anyway. Half of him wanted to say to forget it, that he'd made his peace and wasn't going to risk Michael getting locked up longer for this crazy, impossible plan.

The other half of him was filled with a warm surge of hope. And that was something he hadn't felt in a long time.

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_


	13. Chapter 13

**Okay, so I've been really, really stuck on this story. I had an idea for another Prison Break fic, kind of more in the present day of the show, which made me just want to scrap this whole thing, but I haven't. I really like the first few chapters and then I get kind of distracted and go all over. If anyone's up for the distracted, windy ride, then I'm glad and I appreciate your comments and reviews. I'm going to try to keep going, and to refrain from going back and cleaning everything up and fixing certain parts, although I really, really want to! Anyway, enough of a tangent, enjoy:**

**Again, italics are flashbacks.**

**Chapter 13**

_Veronica had just finished vacuuming the family room of house, which her mother had asked her to do the day before, when she heard the knocking at the door. She unplugged the vacuum cord but left it lying across the floor as she walked towards the front door._

_She wasn't completely surprised to see Lincoln standing on her front step when she pulled the door open._

_"Are your parents home?" he asked._

_"No," she answered. She moved out of the way as he let himself in. "You weren't in school today."_

_"No," he agreed. _

_"Why?" She shut the door and followed him inside, watching him collapse on the couch in the family room. She hoped his sneakers weren't dirty. After all, she had just vacuumed. "Where's Michael?"_

_"He said he was going to some friend's house after school, I don't know," Lincoln answered, slouching down lower into the couch. He watched Veronica walk over to vacuum in the corner and bend down to pull the cord over. _

_"And you?" she persisted._

_"Me…" he echoed._

_Veronica began to wrap the electric cord around the vacuum. "Why weren't you in school?" _

_"Oh." Lincoln shrugged. "You know…."_

_"I don't." She looked up briefly. "Or else I wouldn't be asking."_

_Lincoln paused. "Well, I picked up a couple more shifts at the deli… So I figured—"_

_She held the cord tightly in her hand and gave him a look. "So you went to work? Instead of school…"_

_"Yeah." He sighed. "Don't judge me, Veronica. I'm making good money there. The extra shifts are clutch, you know? I make good tips too."_

_"But you're already not doing very well in class…" Veronica began. Then she simply shook her head. "Exams are coming up and-- Whatever. I'm not going to lecture you."_

_"Good," he answered. "Because… Well, because you would ruin my segue into the next thing I was going to tell you about…" He hesitated._

_"About what, Lincoln?"_

_He rolled his eyes, giving her a look. "Okay. I know how you'll react at first. So before you get all upset about it, just hear me about. But I was thinking that I might just… You know. Start working at the deli more. That way—"_

_"Working more? How?"_

_He was quiet, not sure exactly how to explain himself. She beat him to it._

_"Drop out?"_

_He objected, "Well—"_

_"No, Lincoln." She shook her head. "You can't just drop out. Is that what you're telling me?"_

_"Well, yeah… Man… I mean, I like working there. And the money's good. And—"_

_"You can't."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because," she persisted. She gripped the vacuum cord in her hand, searching for a good argument. Dropping out of high school just wasn't something she ever considered a possibility. He couldn't do that. It didn't make sense. "You're seventeen, Lincoln."_

_"Yeah. So?"_

_"So you're halfway through high school. Why would—"_

_"C'mon, Veronica…" he interrupted. "School's not really my thing. It never has been. The only thing about school I like is the social aspect of it. I mean… Why drag myself through it when… Look, you say halfway through like it's no big deal. But that's still time, Veronica. A lotta time."_

_"It's really not that long a time…"_

_"Then I won't be missing anything."_

_"Except a diploma…" she responded._

_He shrugged. "Veronica…"_

_"No, seriously." She quickly finished wrapping the cord up and straightened, giving him a hard look. "I understand you're stressed out, Lincoln. Things are always going to be stressful. Your mom just passed away not long ago, I know, but you don't have to give up on school."_

_Lincoln's brow furrowed. "I need this job. The extra shifts are exactly what I need. School's not doing anything for me, Veronica. That's your thing. That's Mike's thing." _

_"Lincoln…" she objected._

_"No, really. Finish high school for what? So that I can go to college? C'mon…. Be real. I'm not going to college."_

_"Why not?"_

_He gave her a look. "Oh, please…"_

_"You could. If you wanted to, you could. You could do anything if you wanted to, Lincoln. You act like you're stupid. You're not."_

_"I can always rely on you for optimism, Veronica." He smirked. _

_"I'm being serious. And it's not just optimism," she answered. "It's realism. Don't use your mom as a cop out."_

_"I'm not."_

_"You always have an excuse. What's more important than finishing, a few extra bucks? Come on. You can make more after you have a diploma._

_"It's not just a few bucks. It's decent money. And it's Michael," he answered._

_"Michael?" she echoed. "He's a perfect reason not to just drop out. How about you be a good example for him?"_

_"He doesn't need me as an example," Lincoln answered. "He just needs me to take care of him. One way or another."_

_"You don't think you dropping out of high school will bother him?"_

_'"It's a good thing for both of us," he answered. "Look, Veronica, things have been tight, but I'm not having him taken from me. Okay? I'm not having that happen. And so I need to make sure I can take care of us both." He ran his hands over his face. "It's not like it's an easy decision."_

_"No one said anything about him getting taken away."_

_"I told you how I think about it all the time. It could happen. I mean, one bad thing, and he's gone. We're beneath the radar now, but—"_

_"I know, Lincoln. I know. But he's not going to get taken from you. You said—"_

_"I don't know how you're so sure. You just said it yourself. I'm seventeen. Am I supposed to be in charge of a little kid? No. But I have been, and thanks to some help, I'm going to. And I want to keep it that way."_

_"I know. But you can still finish school, Lincoln."_

_"I can't. I need the money." He frowned. "Rent's tight. It has been. I mean, the landlord's letting me be late… but how long's that gonna last? And I don't care about school. I know that you can't stand to hear that, but I can't. There's nothing that it'll do for me. Working, though? Working can at least keep us paying rent."_

_She took a deep breath. "Lincoln…"_

_"What…? Don't use that voice, because you know I'm right. Don't you want me and Mike to stay together?" he persisted. "Veronica, I promised him."_

_"I know, Lincoln…But I just think it's rash to think you can't finish school."_

_He shrugged. "I'm prioritizing. Plenty of people don't finish school because they prioritize."_

_"You really think it's good for Michael to see you give up on yourself?"_

_"I'm not giving up," he answered, a little defensively. "Say I was a straight A student. It would be a harder decision, maybe, but I would still make the same one. I'm not giving up on myself at all. Just the prospect of high school."_

_"You're his example."_

_"First off, he's really not that impressionable. And second, I encourage school with him all the time. Not that he needs me to. He's really smart." He gave her a grin. "I mean, really smart. Sometimes I can't believe we're related." _

_"So you're just going to… quit and work more at the deli."_

_"He'll finish school. And I'll work and pay rent. It's luck of the draw. And it's fair, because I don't like school anyway." _

_She finally walked over and sat next to him on the couch, quiet. He slid his arm around her shoulders and rested his head gently against hers. They both stared ahead at the blank TV._

_"You think I'm crazy?" he asked softly._

_"No," she admitted, letting the word out slowly. "I just wish… I don't know. That there was something."_

_"You can't do anything. You've done enough. See, you're acting like this is a huge terrible thing. I don't really think so."_

_Veronica just took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his arm around her shoulders. She herself had never had a job… She remembered her father's words… You're going to work for the rest of your long life. Enjoy school and your youth while you have it. She wanted to say that to Lincoln, but it was completely wrong. She knew she was just lucky._

_They were silent for a couple of minutes. Then Lincoln sighed and rested his head back against the couch._

_She tried to change the subject. "Other than school… How's everything else?"_

_"Okay, I guess. But I think Michael's still having nightmares. Is that something I should be worried about?"_

_She paused. "No. I mean, I doubt it. It wasn't long ago. And he's young."_

_"I have nightmares too," Lincoln admitted wryly. "But they're not like his…"_

_"Is it every night?"_

_"I don't know," he answered. "He doesn't always tell me… But last night, he woke me up, and he was crying bad saying he dreamed about Mom and she had no face... And then he was crying to me about forgetting what she looked like." _

_She frowned, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "Well, what'd you say to him?"_

_"I don't know… I didn't really know what to say. I don't think I've ever had a dream like that. I just let him sleep with me. I don't ever really know what to say to him. But after it's bad, he sleeps with me fine."_

_"You should probably try to talk about it."_

_Lincoln made a face. "Yeah." He paused, and then continued. "So this morning… Well, first, he never wants to talk about it either, but this morning before school I gave him one of the old pictures of her from an album and told him it was his."_

_She turned her head and smiled at him. "That was sweet of you, Lincoln…"_

_He shrugged. "He didn't say anything. But he took it." He pulled his arm from around her and began to sit up. "You know, I should call and see if he's home yet."_

_"Okay." Veronica watched him get up and walk out of the room for the phone. She sighed and thought about never seeing Lincoln at the high school again. That would be really weird. It was frustrating, because she knew that a sacrifice like that was something he'd been thinking about for a while, and it was hard to argue. She just hoped he was right. And that he could handle everything._

_Inside, Lincoln dialed his home phone number and leaned against the kitchen counter with a sigh. He listened to the rings and glanced at the clock. He wasn't sure Michael would be home yet. _

_But the kid answered with a quick, "Hello?" on the fourth ring._

_"Hey, buddy," Lincoln replied. "It's me."_

_"Lincoln," Michael answered. "Where are you…?" he immediately demanded, a whine in his voice. "You said—"_

_"I'm at Veronica's," Lincoln answered. "I know, I said I'd be home earlier today. I'm sorry. I'm coming home in a little bit. You—"_

_"You said you'd be home when I got home."_

_"Well, I locked myself out after work," Lincoln admitted, in a low voice. He took a breath nervously and glanced out the door. He didn't want Veronica to hear that part of his day. He didn't want her to think about how irresponsible he could be, especially when he'd just dropped his seemingly irresponsible decision in her lap._

_"How?"_

_"How?" Lincoln echoed. "How about the door locked behind me? Use your head."_

_"Not the bolt, it can't. You'd have to push the other—"_

_"I thought I had my key, and I did push it," Lincoln answered in exasperation. "I figured you had your key. Did you go to your friends?"_

_"For a little bit," Michael replied. "When are you—"_

_"In a bit."_

_"Can Veronica come over too?"_

_"Maybe. I'll ask her."_

_"Can she make dinner?"_

_Lincoln laughed and ran a hand over his head. "Man, yeah, that would be nice. But it's kinda rude to just ask for that." _

_"I'll ask her."_

_"So you wanna be the rude one?"_

_"It's not rude. I'm just saying she's a really good cook… Much better than we are," Michael insisted. "And I'm really hungry and thought you'd be home now."_

_Lincoln curled the cord from the phone around his finger and sighed._

_"Like last night," Michael continued. "Rice isn't supposed to be crunchy, Lincoln."_

_"The game was on," Lincoln objected. "It had to be quick…" He paused for just a minute and then glanced again towards the doorway. This conversation was going no where fast. "But look, Michael, I have to go, but I'll be back soon. I just wanted to see if you were home yet."_

_Michael sighed deeply into the phone. "I am." _

_"Alright, talk to you later, buddy." Lincoln wrapped up the conversation and hung up the phone. Tiredly he walked back into the other room._

_Veronica was still on the couch, but she'd now turned on the TV and was flipping through channels with the controller. He watched her for a moment, quiet in the doorway, before walking towards her._

_She looked up, lowering the volume on the TV and then resting the controller on her leg. "He home?"_

_"Yeah. I oughtta get back soon. I told him I'd actually be early today." He sat down on the edge of the couch, angled to face her. "You wanna come over?"_

_She glanced at her wristwatch. "Yeah, maybe…" _

_Lincoln smirked. "But I'll warn you, if you do come… Michael's going to ask you to make dinner."_

_She laughed. "Oh, is he?"_

_Lincoln shrugged. "Rumor has it you're a better cook than I am."_

_She rolled her eyes. "Well, you do make mac 'n cheese at least twice a week, Lincoln. And the rest of the week it's whatever else fits in the microwave."_

_"He loves mac 'n cheese, I'll have you know. So do I." He made a face. "I'm trying. And I do use the oven sometimes."_

_"I'll come over," she agreed. "I'm not sure about the cooking part though. What do you even have to cook?" She looked at Lincoln's expression and immediately her question was answered. "I suggest we pick up a pizza or something."_

_Lincoln smiled. "You're hard to argue with, you know that?" He put his hand on her knee and leaned forward . She slowly leaned in as well and they shared a soft, unspoken kiss. After a couple of minutes, they both pulled back._

_She slid up off the couch, sticking her hands into her back jean pockets and taking a deep breath. "Okay. Let me just leave my mom a note, and we can go." She started to walk and then stopped. "And put away the vacuum."_

_"I got it," he replied, getting up as well. "Front closet, right?"_

_"Yeah," she agreed. She watched him walk towards the vacuum and headed into the kitchen to quickly write her mother a note to let her know where she was. _

_She left the note on the kitchen table and returned to the family room to find Lincoln now standing in front of the TV with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the show without much interest._

_"V…" he began, looking up at her. "Should I tell Michael tonight?"_

_"Tell him what?" she asked, suddenly confused. _

_He bent down and turned off the TV. "You know. About not going to school anymore."_

_"Well, you should tell him eventually."_

_"How do you think he'll react?"_

_She paused. "Lincoln, he's your brother. I don't know… I mean, I really don't. He probably doesn't understand the implications of it."_

_He made a face. "Yeah, well, I'm looking on the positive side of it, not the negative… Remember?"_

_"I know."_

_"He might not even care," Lincoln answered. "Sometimes, when I talk to him it's like he's in a completely different world. If he's in a different world when I tell him, well, then there won't be much to worry about."_

_"Eventually you'll have to explain to him when he's in our world, Lincoln."_

_"I know," Lincoln admitted. "I just…" His brow furrowed. "I don't want him to judge me for it."_

_"I highly doubt it…"_

_He gave her a critical look. "You immediately judged me, when I told you."_

_"No I didn't," she objected defensively. "I was just surprised. And kinda worried. It's a pretty big decision."_

_"I know it is. And you know that I'd think a lot about something like this. I just want to make sure Michael doesn't take it the wrong way, you know?"_

_"He'll probably ask less questions than I did."_

_"You'd be surprised. Sometimes the way his mind works…" He sighed. "It'll all depend on his mood. I just… Do I act like it's no big deal? Or that it's a huge deal, but that it's acceptable?"_

_"I really don't know, Lincoln," she admitted. _

_"Because it is a big deal."_

_"Then it's a big deal…" she answered. "Listen, Linc. He trusts you. I'm not sure what you're expecting, but you don't have to be afraid of your baby brother."_

_"I'm not afraid of him," Lincoln objected. "I just don't want to disappoint him. I mean, I'm doing it for him. And that's an important part of it, but I don't want him to know that either."  
_

_She laughed. "Okay. Let's go get pizza. The more you analyze this…"_

_He nodded and let out a soft, "Yeah…" in agreement. "I know." _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

In prison, Lincoln had a lot of time to think. Michael had asked him once what he thought about when he was alone in his cell, and it was hard to answer. It was a whole mess of things. And so many of them were from such dark places in his mind that they had to remain in his head.

Once he said them out loud, they wouldn't sound real anymore… Or they would be too real, and that might be worse.

But there were a lot of things churning in his head as he sat in his cell this time, staring at the wall, listening to the dripping faucet… A lot of times it was memories. He tried to stay away from the bad memories because then he was filled with too much. Regret, or anxiety, or rage… And he hated those nostalgic, angry demons. What could he do about any of that now?

There were memories of him and Michael. Of him and Veronica. And LJ. Long ago memories of his mother, and even further back of his father. He wished Michael would have had a father. He wondered how things would have been different if either of them had stuck around.

Then he thought about the plans and the prison. From Michael's logistics and braniac devices to the bad food and prison dynamics and cliques. It was sad now, how much he was getting used to it.

Random thoughts and questioned littered his head, and he realized most of those questions would go unanswered.

Later, when he allowed one of them to slip from his thoughts out past his tongue, he immediately knew it was a bad idea. It was during tedious PI, really his only time with his brother, and Michael's face clouded over as soon as he asked.

"What?" Michael demanded, as though he hadn't heard.

Lincoln paused and then repeated his question. "I was wondering whether normal funerals are held for executed cons," he said simply. "You think?"

"Lincoln."

Lincoln swallowed and then continued. "It's like, here Mrs. So-and-so. Here's your husband's fried remains. We'll send you the bill for the electricity and transport later."

Michael looked disgusted.

Lincoln scratched his short hair and shrugged. "I don't know. Just was thinking about it. Really something I hadn't thought about before."

"Stop."

"Well, they tell you so much about what happens before. What you have to wear, what you have to do, who will be there… But after…? Not much…"

"Lincoln," Michael objected.

Lincoln heard the wavering tone to his brother's voice and looked up at him, frowning at the blue eyes that stared accusingly at him. Then he shook his head. "Sorry, Michael. It's just thoughts."

"Yeah, but…" Michael trailed off. It was hard to argue. Thoughts were often unintentional. And sharing them… Well, he always yearned for Lincoln to share them.

"Do you know?" Lincoln asked. "You're Mr. Research and Know-How."

Michael felt helpless. He wished Lincoln wouldn't talk about that part of it. The part that wasn't going to be in the plan. It really bothered him. In addition to the fact it meant Lincoln thought Michael would fail, it was simply the thought of his brother dying such an undignified, undeserved death.

"Sorry, Michael," Lincoln said again when Michael didn't answer. "Really."

Michael cleared his throat, ignoring his brother's apology. "It won't come to that," he said. "We're in the wall. At night I can go through. I can do this, Lincoln." His eyes glazed over a little bit as he thought about it. About the pipes and the tattoos. "I can definitely do it. And the pipes meet the infirmary, and—"

"How is she part of the plan?"

Michael looked at him quizzically.

"Sara," Lincoln persisted. "Why is she part of the plan?" He watched Michael shift uncomfortably and persisted. "I understand you and me. That's it. I don't understand the other people."

"It'll work out."

"Trust, Michael. Trust is a very powerful thing. People do betray you. She works for—"

"Her father is the Governor."

Lincoln blinked and then paused. "I think I knew that… Even more of a reason to be careful."

"She doesn't know anything," Michael answered. "She just knows that I need insulin, and that's why I'm always there. Trust is a different story, but right now it's simple."

"And you're on schedule?"

"We. We're on schedule." Michael nodded. "For the most part."

"Not sure what the most part means." Lincoln stopped, thinking again. He was quiet for a moment, and then asked slowly, "You know, and if a funeral is—Actually, that part doesn't even matter. I just wondering if I could be near Mom. If it does happen."

Michael looked at him sharply.

Lincoln shrugged. "Sorry, man. You know, when something's on your mind… You just… I can't help it. You think that's possible?"

"No," Michael answered. "Because I'm getting you out of here, Lincoln."

Lincoln enjoyed his determined tone. But it also frightened him. Or maybe that was his mind frightening him again.

"I trust you, Michael," was all he replied.

oooooooooooooooooo


	14. Chapter 14

I really apologize for how long it's taken for me to update. To be honest, my only excuse is that my work hours haven't been too pleasant recently and so I haven't had much time to write. But I do try to write in a lot of my spare time when I'm relaxing and I do want to continue this and my other stories. I had a block with this one that I'm trying to get out of, so hadn't had much written to really post until now.

Thanks if you're still reading this, and please let me know if you are. Huge appreciation for you, and I mean it. The comments have been really supportive and that keeps me going. I started another Prison Break story but I'm not sure if it will be enough to post or if I'll continue it. We'll see. If I do it has more of a plot than this one planned though! 

Tried to write a version of the Riot in this chapter. Hopefully it's up to expectations!

The season 2 hiatus ends tomorrow and I'm also thrilled for that.

Again, italics flashback.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

_In the car, Lincoln looked out the passenger seat window morosely. Only a little over a week had passed since their mother's death, and already the gloom of responsibility was weighing down on him. There were so many details and tasks and intricacies of life that he'd never thought much about before. He'd always helped out and considered himself the man of the house, taking in extra cash and watching out for everyone, but this was different. His mother had worked hard as a single mother and now it was all just thrown at him._

_He should have expected this. It wasn't like his mother died overnight. She'd been dying for a while. Which had fortunately allowed some plans to be made, such as preparing Aunt Kathy to help them out for a little while, but it still all felt like a bag of bricks thrown at him._

_"We'll drop you off at Veronica's, okay?" Lincoln asked, glancing behind him to the backseat of the car where his eight year old brother sat._

_"Why," Michael replied, rather monotonously. He'd already asked that same question a few times that morning without receiving a satisfactory answer. It was losing its value as a question._

_"I told you. Aunt Kathy and I need to do something," Lincoln replied, glancing at the driver's seat where their aunt tapped her fingers against the steering while at a red light. _

_"But what do you have to do?" Michael asked._

_"Something," Lincoln answered, glancing back at him again. He watched Michael frown but ignored it. He didn't want to answer these questions yet. _

_"Why can't you just tell me?" Michael persisted. "Aunt Kathy, why—"_

_"I'm not in the middle of this," she interrupted, clearing her throat. "So don't ask me. This is Lincoln's thing."_

_"Lincoln," Michael whined in exasperation. "Where are you—"_

_"Just for a couple hours," Lincoln answered. "You like Veronica. I don't know why it's a big deal." _

_"It is."_

_Lincoln ignored him. He lifted his hand to change the radio station but it was whacked down by his aunt's._

_"I like this song," she told him. _

_Course you would, he thought to himself. It sounded like elevator music. But he left it playing. _

_He glanced back at Michael again. "Look, Michael," he said. "Don't be mad at me just because I have to go do something. It's really not a big deal."_

_"Well, you don't have to lie about it," Michael responded. "That's all."_

_"I'm not lying to you. Since when do I lie to you?"_

_"Remember Mom said not telling anything is the same as not telling the truth."_

_Lincoln rolled his eyes. It was hard to argue with a dead woman's ethics. "Shut up, Michael," he said instead._

_"Aunt Kathy, don't you think—" Michael began._

_"What'd I just tell you?" she responded, looking at him in the rearview mirror. "Don't ask me again."_

_Michael quieted and just looked out the window. _

_Lincoln leaned his head back against the car headrest. He was frustrated. He knew he should tell Michael, and he should explain things to him. He realized it wasn't fair. And it wasn't a huge deal, what they were doing today. He and his aunt were just going to look at apartments. It had become painfully obvious that there was no way they would be able to stay where they were. As simple and affordable it had seemed before, their mother's salary was now non-existent. And there would have to be changes._

_But he didn't feel like telling Michael that yet. He didn't want Michael part of the process. He'd rather at least find a half-decent place where they could scrape by before he dealt with however Michael would handle another change. _

_Lincoln wanted to have actual answers to give his brother before he told him anything._

_"Make a right here," he told his aunt. "She lives down this street… Um…. Fourth on the right."_

_Their aunt slowed as she neared the house and then pulled up against the curb._

_Lincoln unhooked his seatbelt. "C'mon, Michael."_

_Michael didn't move. "I want to come with you instead."_

_"You can't. I'm sorry. Now move." Lincoln pushed his passenger door open and slid out of the car. He walked around the front and came around the side, pulling the backdoor open. _

_Michael just gave him a look, so Lincoln reached for his seatbelt which then caused his brother to start moving. He unhooked his own seatbelt and slid out of the car before Lincoln could touch him, a scowl on his face. He slammed the car door shut and stepped beside his brother on the sidewalk. _

_Lincoln offered him his hand as they started walking and Michael's glare intensified._

_"I'm not a baby," he said. "You don't need to hold my hand and you don't need to lie to me about everything."_

_"I'm not lying about anything," Lincoln answered, dropping his hand to his side, a little dejected. "Trust me. I've never lied to you."_

_Michael gave him a look._

_"Not about anything important anyway," Lincoln persisted. He sighed in exasperation. They reached Veronica's door and he knocked. _

_Michael crossed his arms over his chest and studied Lincoln. Lincoln seemed nervous and distracted, but that was still really no reason to be keeping anything from him. Michael felt isolated. Since their mother had died, it was Lincoln and Aunt Kathy whispering about things, tiptoeing around him. He wasn't sure what was so important that he wasn't privy to the information. _

_Lincoln looked like he hadn't slept in a week, and Michael wondered if maybe he hadn't… Michael was typically asleep before him._

_"Lincoln, are you tired?" Michael asked._

_"Huh?" Lincoln glanced down at him. Before he could fully respond, he heard the click of a lock._

_Veronica opened the door and seemed slightly confused to see them. "Hey…"_

_"Hey," Lincoln answered. "Today. Remember? Can you watch him?"_

_"I don't need to be watched," Michael reminded, but they ignored him._

_"Yeah, of course," she answered. "I just forgot it was today."_

_"I called you last night."_

_"I know. I'm sorry." She smirked. "Long day already." She smiled at Michael. "Hey, Mike. How are you?"_

_"Good, I guess," Michael responded. "Something's beeping in your house."_

_"Really?" She frowned and glanced behind her, inside. "I didn't even notice. Must be the microwave. I just stuck something in there. You hungry?"_

_"No." He looked at Lincoln. "Linc, can I—"_

_"No, you stay here, okay?" Lincoln answered, knowing what he was thinking. "I won't be long, but I gotta go," he said. He patted a silently brooding Michael on the shoulder. "See you later, bud. Bye, V."_

_Michael just glowered at him as he went down the steps and back towards the car._

_"What's the matter?" Veronica asked, eyeing his expression. _

_"Do you know where he's going?" Michael asked, watching Lincoln get back into the car. "He wouldn't tell me."_

_She studied him for a minute and then shook her head. "Um… no... He just asked if we could hang out for a bit and said he'd be back later." She paused. "C'mon, let's go inside."_

_Michael sighed as the car drove away and told himself not to worry about it anymore. Lincoln obviously wasn't changing his mind about taking him. He followed Veronica inside. _

_She shut the door behind him. "It'll just be a couple hours. Am I that terrible to be with for a couple of hours?"_

_"No," he admitted. "I'm just… not sure why Lincoln won't tell me anything."_

_"He's just busy," she answered. _

_"Busy with what?"_

_"With… You know. Things are different now."_

_"Now that Mom is dead," he said._

_She paused, pressing her lips together as an awkward moment passed. "He'll take care of things. You wanna watch TV or something? I'm gonna grab my food."_

_"Where's your mom?"_

_"At work," she answered. She headed towards the kitchen, and Michael followed her. He watched her approach the microwave and pull from it a bowl of pasta. "You sure you're not hungry?"_

_He nodded. "I ate."_

_"You had lunch?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Okay," she answered, grabbing a fork from the counter. "Wanna watch TV?"_

_"I don't know."_

_She frowned at him and noticed the distracted look on his face, unsure whether it was because of Lincoln, or being here, or something else. She wasn't sure exactly what to say to him. After all, he had lost his mother about a week ago. What do you say to an eight year old that just lost their mother? She wasn't sure what he was feeling, or thinking, or what would make it better or worse. _

_"Have you talked to Lincoln?" Michael asked._

_"About what?" She walked towards the doorway. "Let's sit inside."_

_He followed her back into the other room. She switched on the TV before walking over to the couch and sitting down. Anything to create noise during the silent gaps. Michael sometimes said bizarrely adult things that she didn't know how to correctly answer. As Michael sat beside her, she handed him the controller. _

_"Have you talk to him?" Michael persisted. He simply put the controller down between them, disinterested._

_"What about, Michael?"_

_"About anything. Have you talked to him?"_

_"Yeah. I mean, Lincoln and I talk every day, Michael."_

_"Then have you talked to him about what's going to happen?" _

_"Happen to what…?" _

_He watched her eat a forkful of pasta. "Us. Like where they'll send us. Are they going to send us somewhere?"_

_"Who is they?"_

_"You know. They. The… Whoever controls everything. I heard from someone at school that they normally send you away."_

_"No one's sending anyone anywhere."_

_"Well, what about today? Where are they going today?"_

_"Michael… Lincoln just said he'd be a few hours, and then I'm sure he'll discuss with you—"_

_"Do you really not know?"_

_She chewed on the pasta slowly. Swallowing, she just sighed. "Not really."_

_"You're harder to tell if you're lying than Linc. He's easy to tell."_

_She looked at him, surprised. "Michael. I'm not lying to you. I know in general what your brother is doing. But I don't know what he does every second of the day." _

_"Then what in general?"_

_"Michael, why are you interrogating me?" _

_"Is he going to talk to them about where we're going?"_

_"No. There is no they, so don't worry."_

_Michael took a deep breath. "If they're going to split us up, then Lincoln better tell me. I'll… Do you think he'd just not say it, and it would happen? Like today it might happen?"_

_"No, that's not what he's doing today. And that's never going to happen."_

_"He just better tell me if it does happen. He better tell me first." He poked at a worn spot on his jeans. "So he's coming back, right?"_

_"Coming back? Of course he is. In just a couple hours." _

_Michael was quiet._

_"Michael, I promise. What would even make you think that?" _

_He frowned. "I don't know. I just really hope he'd tell me. If he's not coming back."_

_"Trust me, Lincoln wouldn't leave you anywhere." She shook her head._

_"He left me here."_

_"For a couple hours. Don't be so worried, okay?"_

_"But Aunt Kathy told us I could go live with her for a little while instead. Instead of what? Where else am I going to go?"_

_Veronica looked at his worried face. "Have you really been thinking about this? Michael, honey, no. You're not going anywhere."_

_"Is Lincoln?"_

_"No…" She gave a small laugh. "No, definitely not."_

_"Well, then what is it he can't tell me? Why is it such a secret?" Michael persisted. "I feel like he won't tell me anything..." _

_"I don't know why he can't tell you where he's going today," she admitted. "I think it's more that he doesn't want to worry you with all of this, and—"_

_"All what?"_

_Veronica took another bite of pasta, not feeling as hungry anymore. She hadn't expected for this to be her afternoon, but realized she should have expected it. After all, she dealt with the older brother's insecurities all the time, why not get tossed into the little brother's as well?_

_"Listen, it's not like Linc's told me everything either," she answered. "So don't think that. And I agreed today that I'd hang out while he gets some things done, and I think it's better to just respect his wishes to tell you later."_

_Michael's brow furrowed. He couldn't stand this lack of information. His mind was swirling with so much, thousands of puzzle pieces, and here was this one important piece dangling in front of him that no one would let him have. He felt like it would drive him crazy. Maybe they didn't care, they didn't mind having just partial pieces, but Michael felt like he would explode._

_"Veronica," he persisted. "I just want to know…"_

_"I know you do. I have questions for Lincoln myself."_

_That didn't make Michael feel any better. He continued to frown and toss around the millions of ideas in his head. It was so frustrating. He was already nervous about everything since the day of the funeral when everything really hit him, and now this was just that little bit more to upset him._

_"I wanted to go with him today," Michael persisted._

_Veronica looked at him. Michael's voice sounded small and tired, and she wondered for a minute if he was going to get upset. She suddenly felt frustrated with Lincoln as well, for being put in this position. She didn't want to lie to Michael, and she was annoyed that she even knew what Lincoln was doing today. It would be so much easier not to tell him if she didn't know herself. _

_When Veronica didn't answer him, Michael just felt even more dejected. He slumped down a little in the couch and crossed his arms over his chest._

_"Will you feel better if I just tell you?" she asked after a moment of silence. "Because it really isn't a big deal, and it shouldn't be made into one."_

_Michael nodded. _

_"Okay." She sighed. "And I'm sure Lincoln will tell you as soon as he gets back anyway, but basically he went out today with your aunt so that they could look at some more affordable apartments for you guys."_

_Michael paused, listening. "Why?"_

_"Because… Well, the place you have now was for three, now there's two. So there's no reason to pay for things you don't need, right?"_

_"I like where we are."_

_"Me too. But now—"_

_"We'll really poor now, huh?"_

_"Well, no, don't say that," she replied. "Your mother left some money, or so Linc told me. But it's just important to be careful."_

_"Why…" he started slowly. "Why couldn't I go? I want to see where he's looking, and—"_

_"It was just easier for him and your aunt to go I think."_

_"He shoulda told me though. Like not made it a huge secret. And I don't even want to move. Why wouldn't he tell me that now we have to move? That is kinda a big deal."_

_"I can't read his mind, Michael…" she replied with a shrug. "Just let him tell you things in his own time. He's having a really hard time with all of this too."_

_"He didn't say anything. He never says anything."_

_"Lincoln bottles a lot up. You know that. But I'm sure you guys are going to talk about it later."_

_Michael just shook his head. "Whatever."_

* * *

_On the car ride to the first circled apartment ad in the paper, Lincoln began to feel nervous. He knew nothing about renting an apartment. He didn't understand their budget or what kind of questions to ask when you were looking at a place or even what was in a lease. He was suddenly glad that his aunt was going with him. _

_"This is going to be weird," he spoke up, after a few minutes of his aunt's terrible taste in music being the only sound. _

_"How so, Lincoln?" she asked. "Hopefully it won't be too bad."_

_"Well, I mean, we've lived where we are since Mike was a baby," he said. "I mean, I remember the other place, but it wasn't the same. And Michael knows nothing else…"_

_"People move all the time, Lincoln. You two will be fine."_

_"It's just confusing too. I mean… How we'll pay for it, or how they'll ever trust that we'll pay for it, and…"_

_"We discussed it, remember? The lease is going to be in my name. You would need a guarantor anyway, and this will just be easier. There's enough in the bank for you to cover a few months rent, and—"_

_"I know, I know." This had been a long conversation that he didn't really want to have again. _

_"Again, Lincoln… Are you sure you want to stay in Chicago? Near me the rents are a bit better, and—"_

_"You already said that you have no room for us, and—"_

_"Don't make it sound like that, Lincoln. You could live nearby. You know I want to help you boys out. I don't have too much to pay past my mortgage, and you've been to my place… It's cramped as it is."_

_"And we want to stay in Chicago."_

_"Right."_

_"It's all we know. I'm not taking us out of here. Michael likes his school, and we have friends here, and it's just better… We don't have to be in the best neighborhood or anything."_

_"Well, you won't be," she said, somewhat dryly. "I'll tell you that much."_

_"Yeah…" Lincoln sighed. _

_"You're old enough to make these decisions," she said. "And I respect that and what you want to do, Lincoln. I think it's wonderful that you're trying to do everything. And like I've told you a hundred times already, I can take Michael for a while, or—"_

_"No."_

_"It's going to be tough, Lincoln. I'm just saying, he can stay with me for as long as it would be easy for you guys."_

_"No, I want him with me."_

_"Well, when the school term ends, it's really easy to slide him into other schools. So just think about it, Lincoln. You're not his parent. He's going to need a parent."_

_"You're not his parent either," Lincoln answered. "You rarely see us."_

_She was quiet for a minute. "I'm still not a stranger, Lincoln." _

_"I know." He sighed. "Either way. I want him with me."_

_"It's not that easy, remember." _

_"Nothing's easy. I can handle him. I've always handled him."_

_She nodded, breaking at the upcoming red light. "I know, Lincoln. I'm just saying there are a lot of considerations to make. And your mother, before she passed, took my word that I would help out."_

_He nodded. "I know. You have been. We really appreciate it." _

_"Just think about it, that's all I'm saying." _

_Lincoln nodded. He wouldn't really. He loved and appreciated his aunt, but realized the offer was more out of need than generosity. He wasn't lying when he said she rarely saw them. She had no kids of her own and had admitted numerous times to never having wanted kids. Lincoln would never cart Michael off to her, despite her offer. Michael was good, but complicated like a lot of kids, and he always remembered her impatience with him when he was younger. Besides that, Lincoln had intention to separate them. His whole goal was to keep them together._

_"What about the whole adoption thing," Lincoln started. "We never finished talking about that."_

_"Well, not much to know," she replied, sighing as the car in front of her slowed down. "On paper I'll be his guardian, and we—"_

_"If my job was better, then…"_

_"No, that's not it. Actually there's no job or salary restrictions to adopt. The whole thing is the age. You're not 21." _

_Lincoln frowned. "Yeah."_

_"So even if you wanted to, even if you were making a million dollars…"_

_"I could pay someone off for it if I had a million dollars."_

_She smiled. "True. Yeah, but you know, Lincoln, it's just for the paperwork. We've already settled it that you guys will be fine just the two of you." _

_"Okay."_

_"I mean, you can read the regulations if you want. If I could have it any way, you'd be able to officially get the guardian title. But it doesn't matter, really. I actually should give you a copy of all the forms and stuff."_

_"Is it a lot for you? I mean, not copies. Like the process."_

_"Um… No," she acknowledged. "Not really. Just a lawyer's needed, some paperwork. Since I'm a family member, you know, it's not too bad." _

_"Yeah." He paused. "Well, thanks."_

_Another moment of silence passed. Lincoln took a deep breath. _

_"Honey, take out the newspaper and read me the address?" she said a minute later. "I think we're pretty close to the first one."_

* * *

_Three hours later, Lincoln's head was spinning. He had his aunt drop him back at Veronica's, thanked her again, and told her he would see her later when they got home. Walking up to her front door, he let out a huge yawn. _

_He let himself in and gently closed the door behind him. He glanced inside the family room and didn't see them, so next made his way to the kitchen where he spotted them at the table playing cards._

_"Hey…" Veronica greeted as she noticed Lincoln. She smiled. "How was it?"_

_"Fine." He glanced at Michael, who was studying his cards and hadn't looked up yet. "It was fine."_

_"You taught him poker?" Veronica asked, raising an eyebrow at Lincoln. "'Cause he's pretty good." _

_"Yeah," Lincoln answered. "He's not bad."_

_Michael finally looked up, putting his cards facedown on the table. He watched Lincoln yawn again. "Was it tiring looking for apartments?" he asked._

_Lincoln frowned for a moment and then looked at Veronica. "You told him."_

_Veronica looked uncomfortable and shrugged. "You know, it wasn't fair for him not to know."_

_"He was going to know. When I figured it all out."_

_"I'm not living somewhere I didn't go with you to see," Michael said. "Why couldn't we do it together?"_

_"Because it's complicated," Lincoln replied. He gave Veronica a look._

_"I'm sorry, Lincoln," she said. "But honestly, it was easy for you not to tell him when you didn't have to sit next to him for three hours."_

_"I dealt with it this whole morning, Veronica. And I didn't tell him."_

_"Yeah, Lincoln, but come on… It wasn't fair for you to put me in that position."_

_"It wasn't fair for you not to tell me," Michael added._

_Lincoln sighed. "Well, life's not fair." He didn't think what he was going through was fair either. But he also didn't feel like he could adequately express how he felt. _

_"Linc…" Veronica rolled her eyes._

_"What?"_

_"Why didn't you tell me?" Michael persisted._

_"Because," Lincoln answered. "Because… I don't even have a good because, Michael… It's not you or anything like that. It's me. I just wasn't ready to tell you or explain things yet…"_

_"Why?"_

_"Because…" Lincoln insisted, feeling terribly ineloquent. "I don't know. It's a big deal. I mean, it's not… But it is. And I just… I wanted to be able to explain everything. Not just… You don't have to go through the process. I'll worry about the process."_

_"I want to do the process," Michael replied._

_Lincoln looked at his little brothers, whose ice blue eyes stared through him, earnest with confusion and hurt. He wasn't sure what to say. Lincoln decided to just be honest. "We're going to have to move. That's basically all… All there is to it…"_

_"I don't want to though, because Mom—"_

_"We need to," Lincoln interrupted. "We need to. And I can't…" He reached up to rub at his eyes, exhausted. "I can't do this now, Michael. Fight about it."_

_"I'm not fighting. I'm not…" Michael replied._

_"Okay, well then… I don't know. It's over."_

_"I wanted to go with you."_

_"I know. But it's come and gone and—"_

_"I just don't get why I couldn't be there, and—"_

_"Stop." _

_Michael looked ready to insist, but Veronica shook her head at him. "Michael, don't provoke him."_

_"He's not provoking me," Lincoln objected. He walked over and took a seat at the table as well. He started to play with a couple cards that were lying there. "I just don't know what to tell him. I don't know."_

_"Did you find a place?" she asked._

_He nodded. "I think, maybe. Yeah."_

_"Is it far from here?"_

_He shook his head. "Not really. I mean, we won't be on your block." He smirked. _

_"Lincoln, how can you…" Michael began uncertainly. "If we're both living there, why couldn't I look too?"_

_"It was just easier, Michael." Lincoln sighed. "I don't even know the process. I needed Aunt Kathy, and I just… I just needed it as least complicated as possible."_

_"How do I make it complicated?"_

_"All your questions, Michael. Like right now, all your questions."_

_Michael took a deep breath. _

_"Guys, you know…" Veronica began. "Let's not turn this into a huge problem… We understand where you're both coming from…"_

_"Easy for you…" Michael pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "He tells you everything." He began to walk away from the table._

_"Michael," Lincoln protested. He caught his brother's arm as he neared him, but Michael pulled away. "Don't walk away."_

_Michael shook his head and left the kitchen._

_Lincoln sighed deeply. "I don't even know what to do… Today was just… hard." He frowned at Veronica._

_"I'm sorry I told him…" she replied, looking sympathetic. "But I felt like I had to… It was just… He was speculating about what it was you were doing, and he knew that I knew."_

_"It's okay… I mean, I think he would've reacted to me the same way if I just told him now" He paused. "What was he speculating?"_

_"He thinks that you guys can't live together," she answered. "He was afraid that's what you were meeting about today. That someone was going to split you up, and—"_

_"I told him that wouldn't happen," Lincoln interrupted with a frown. "I told him."_

_"Yeah, he's eight years old, Lincoln. He has no clue. Look, you have no clue. He was asking me if I thought you were coming back."_

_Lincoln leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes in frustration but feeling a huge weight of guilt. He stomach turned. "No, he didn't."_

_Veronica nodded. "It was easier for me to explain what you were actually doing."_

_"Which I probably should've told him to begin with."_

_She nodded again. "Yup."_

_"He's never lived anywhere else, though," Lincoln persisted. "He learned to walk there. To talk there. To read there. To…"_

_"I know, Lincoln. But you don't have to pad the walls of life for him."_

_"Mom just died. I don't know. I didn't want to throw this in his face."_

_"Well, maybe you should."_

_He shrugged._

_"It doesn't have to be a big deal unless you make it one," she persisted. _

_He shrugged again. "Yeah. I know… It'll be really… I mean, I feel like I look in the mirror, and it's like, how are we going to do this? How am I supposed to do this?"_

_"You can, though. Somehow."_

_"Somehow," he echoed wryly. "My aunt was offering to take Michael for a while. I think… I think that would be a really bad idea, but…"_

_"Can you afford the apartment you looked at?"_

_"It'll be tight," he admitted. "But, uh, yeah. I think so. If we don't… you know… If we just are really careful. Stop eating out and stuff." He smirked. "A few adjustments."_

_"Yeah…" _

_"How was he today?"_

_She shrugged. "Uh, good. Good."_

_"I can't tell really. He's been… on and off."_

_"You've been on and off."_

_"Well, yeah," he admitted. "It's something we knew was coming. I mean, I was thinking about that today. Because we knew… We knew she was dying. But… There's so much beyond that… I knew there would be but still…"_

_Veronica nodded, studying him. It was crazy in a way to think of Lincoln and Michael living alone together. What else could they do, really? But she thought about it, and how young Lincoln still was, and how anyone who came by and didn't know them would wonder where their parents were._

_"I should go talk to him…" Lincoln sighed, pushing his own chair back. _

_"You guys wanna grab dinner with me? We'll go get pizza or something?" she asked._

_Lincoln hesitated as he stood and then just nodded. "Yeah. That actually sounds really good. Let me just see how he is."_

_He left the kitchen and found Michael sitting inside on the couch, looking morose. He looked up at Lincoln's entrance briefly and then just looked back at the TV. Lincoln walked over and sat down next to his brother quietly. _

_"Are you going to get upset on me?" Lincoln asked._

_"No…" Michael shook his head, but he already looked close to tears. _

_"What are you upset about?" Lincoln persisted._

_Michael shrugged futilely, sniffling._

_"Don't…" Lincoln pleaded. He slipped his hand to the back of Michael's neck, watching him breathe deeply, seeming to use all of his concentration not to cry. "There's nothing to be upset about, Michael... I'm sorry I didn't bring you, okay?"_

_Michael nodded, as though agreeing out of an attempt not to be confrontational. _

_"Was your day that terrible?" Lincoln asked._

_Michael shook his head. _

_"Then what's the matter?"_

_Michael shrugged again, chin quivering a little bit. _

_Lincoln moved his arm around his brother's shoulders, pulling him in closer. "There's nothing to be upset or worried about… You know why? Remember what I told you?"_

_"No," Michael admitted. _

_"Sure you do." Lincoln kept his arm tight around him. "About how it's gonna be you and me, and how the two of us will take care of everything. Right?"_

_Michael didn't answer._

_"Veronica told me you thought we'd get separated…" Lincoln said. "You know that's not true. You know I wouldn't let that happen."_

_Michael didn't respond._

_"Michael, just talk to me," Lincoln persisted._

_"Why…?" Michael responded, voice trembling just slightly._

_"Because we have to talk. And I should have told you everything this morning about the apartment."He paused. "If it makes you feel better, we could go back to the one I think is going to be it… And you can tell me what you think."_

_Michael shrugged. _

_"You want to?" Lincoln persisted._

_"I don't care."_

_"Yeah, you do…" _

_Michael sniffled again. "Lincoln, I don't wanna talk about it right now."_

_"Okay." Lincoln sat there and sighed. He stroked his fingers against the nape of Michael's neck, then through his hair, wondering if he should say something else. He felt bad now for not bringing Michael. By trying not to complicate things, he'd seemingly complicated them more._

_Michael was quiet for a minute, and then whimpered. "I miss Mommy…" _

_"I know. Me too." Lincoln closed his eyes for a minute, clueless about what to do or say. Michael ready to bawl was enough to make him start to tear up himself, and he knew he couldn't do that. He was always strong for Michael. But today was so trying, he didn't know what words he had left to offer. "But we'll be fine."_

_We'll be fine? What kind of comfort was that?_

_Lincoln wasn't sure what to say. He watched a couple tears slip down his brother's cheeks. "You want to see the apartment today or no?"_

_"No," Michael sniffed. _

_"Okay." Lincoln realized that it had probably been a stupid question. Was changing the subject terrible? He decided he didn't know what else to do. "Veronica wanted to get pizza with us. You want to do that?"_

_Michael shrugged. _

_Lincoln looked up and saw Veronica just walking through the doorway. She frowned and took a deep breath. _

_"No pizza?" Veronica asked. _

_Lincoln slid his arm out from around Michael and reached to his face to wipe a few tears away. "I don't know. Michael…?"_

_Michael swallowed, still struggling to control himself and disappointed by the tears that had slipped out. He nodded. "Okay." _

_"Okay," Lincoln agreed, rubbing his hand over Michael's hair and then getting up. "Yeah. Okay." _

_Michael got up as well, moving to take Lincoln's hand. _

_"Alright," Veronica agreed. "Let's go." _

* * *

Michael lay in his bunk in the dark, eyeing the dimly lit bars of the cell and taking a deep breath. He could feel his heart beating, and it was faster than usual. But it was becoming the norm to feel his pulse like this. Throughout this whole ordeal, this attempt to outsmart the system, all he felt was nervousness. 

Especially recently. Attempting to gain a trustworthy relationship with Abruzzi and trying not to come close to T-Bag seemed like his biggest daytime concerns, but now things were getting more stressful. Almost being transferred out of Fox River, which would undermine everything, had rattled him.

Keeping to schedule was starting to be a daunting task.

"I can't get through the wall," he finally admitted out loud, his voice sounding weird to him.

In the bunk above him, his cell mate responded. "What do you mean, you can't get through the wall?"

"I know how to do it," Michael answered, frustrated. Not at Sucre, but at himself. "I just don't have the time to do it."

"We're locked up," Sucre pointed out. "All we got is time."

Michael took a deep breath. "You don't understand. I planned this break on a schedule. And constantly coming up here for count won't let me do what I need to do to get through that wall."

Sucre didn't say anything.

Michael persisted. "If I'm not back on schedule, which means we're through that wall by the end of the day manana… we're not getting out of here."

Getting through the wall in the cell had been a huge accomplishment. Hell, if that hadn't worked, nothing else could have. Getting up to the roof after that, and analyzing the security response of the prison, was the next big step. And now here he was. With another wall to get through, a bigger one, and the impossible task of doing it looming over him.

"There's three things for certain in life," Sucre told him, leaning over to look down at him. "Death, taxes, and _count_." He paused. "The only way to stop count is…"

"What?" Michael eyed him suspiciously.

"Never mind," Sucre answered, shaking his head. "It's a bad idea."

Michael needed him on board. He needed his help. "Worse than the idea of losing Maricruz?"

Finally, after a pause, Sucre sighed. "A Lockdown. We get Gen Pop locked down for a day, and you'll have all the time you need."

"And no count?"

"Bulls don't even come by. Only one problem…"

Michael sat up. "How do we get a lockdown?"

Sucre took a deep breath as he thought. "Can you get the prison AC unit?"

"Maybe…"

"You wanna lockdown, you gotta get the inmates riled up…"

The new addition to the plan became clear. Michael felt his mind churning through the details. Turn up the heat. It seemed so simple. It was a heatwave outside. No AC would be unbearable. Would that really work? Would it be enough to rile up the inmates and get a lockdown?

He didn't care to think otherwise. He had no choice but to try.

The next day, Michael slipped back into the wall undetected and worked his way into the prison AC unit.

The effects were immediate.

"You were supposed to turn off the AC, not turn on the furnace…" Sucre complained as they sweat inside their cell.

Michael ignored him. He was uncomfortable himself, but it was working. He could tell by the attitudes he could observe and hear in the other cells. Maybe it would actually be enough.

And it was.

Sooner than he could hope for, the inmates' aggression over the heat exploded during the next lineup. And as much as Michael hated T-Bag, and feared him and his mind, he appreciated his contribution to the inmates' insolent belligerence during the lineup.

It was enough trouble to control them, in their heated aggression, to cause the shout of exactly what Michael wanted to hear.

"That's it! Lockdown! Everyone back to your cells! Now, convicts! Lockdown!"

It was perfect.

The cells locked up, for those in their cells, and Michael could feel his pulse race again. The curtain went up in their cell, and Michael took Sucre with him behind the walls.

They would get through that wall.

He couldn't help but glance behind them at the noise from inside the cell block. Even inside the walls they could hear the shouts of the inmates and guards. He wasn't completely familiar with what a lockdown would be like, but he didn't have time to watch it progress. He couldn't worry about that.

Within a half hour he had Sucre also knowing what to do to get through the wall, using the outline he'd preserved in his tattoo as their guide for what part of the wall to drill through. It seemed crazy, using an old egg beater as their drill and relying on his assumptions and math skills, but it was enough. Michael could feel them getting back on plan.

Until they left drilling and returned to his cell when they both heard a noise that sounded close to the hole. They needed to check that it was still protected.

Almost an hour had passed. He had no idea what to expect, but he could hear the sounds of the inmates getting louder and louder as they approached the hole to their cell. It sounded like a riot and he felt his stomach turn a little bit in anxiety.

His heart stopped completely when he found the hole open and crawled back into his cell to see T-Bag, Abruzzi, and the CO Bob staring at him.

He swallowed and felt his blood run cold.

"Yeah…" Abruzzi said, meeting his eye. "We have a problem."

"That's right…" T-Bag spoke up, looking at Michael edgily. "Bob here has seen the hole… He's gotta go away."

Michael looked at the bloodied CO on the floor in the corner of the cell and back at T-Bag. He suddenly felt fearful. For everything. He turned around and rested his head against the concrete wall, trying to center himself. This was too much going. Too much to handle right now. When Sucre and he left, the cell was closed. Now it was open and here they were.

He tried to keep his composure. "No one is going anywhere," he said as he turned back around to face him. He knew this wasn't a time to be weak. Not in front of the people he was supposed to lead and control to get out of here.

T-Bag stepped towards him. "He's seen the hole."

Michael breathed, lowering his eyes to the floor.

"So have you…" Abruzzi said with irritation to T-Bag.

Sucre crawled back into the cell as well, equally surprised to see the group gathered there. Michael heard him curse under his breath.

Michael tried to zone them out as he thought, remembering the scenarios he'd dreamed about in his head and how he'd hypothetically dealt with them. Nothing had been like this though. He ignored Sucre's comment about luck running out and the CO's pleading to keep him alive for his daughter.

"We gotta kill him…" T-Bag told him, stepping up close to Michael with that crazy glint in his eye.

Michael focused. "The cops are right outside… And they'll stay outside. As long as they know we're keeping him alive."

"But he's a guard… He's gonna squeal…"

"What the hell…" Abruzzi began in almost a growl as he approached T-Bag, "does this have to do with you anyway?" He leaned in close, sweat dripping from his long hair. "This is not any of your concern…"

"Hm…" T-Bag looked unthreatened and turned to eye Michael with an impish look on his face. "See… Bob here knows about our secret. He knows about OUR escape… So it's all of our concern now, isn't it?"

Michael felt his world falling apart as he watched Abruzzi and T-Bag become more heated, arguing over who was involved and who would tell the bulls and whose plan it really was. He watched them shove each other futilely, thinking about what a challenge it had been to get Abruzzi on his side in the first place, how he'd even lost toes for it, and felt sick. Could he lose it all so easily?

He walked away. He would leave them arguing for now, he needed to see what else was going on. What he had caused with his heat wave. His mind swirled with back up plans and guilt as his conscience swirled with anxiety.

His anxiety hit him like a kick in his gut when he made his way downstairs and caught the inmates looking at video surveillance in the broken into guard's room, shouting excitedly about getting the 'lady doc'.

Sara.

Sick bay had been breached and cons were after Sara. He looked at the screens and watched her, cowering on the floor in a exam room while cons battled to get through the locked door and inside.

He nearly ran back to his cell, resisting the urge to throw up at the whole mess his AC stunt was causing. Moments ago he was thrilled that he and Sucre were drilling, and suddenly it was falling apart.

He told Sucre to finish what they started, warned T-Bag not to touch the CO, not to hurt anybody, and crawled back through the wall hastily, ignoring their protests. He needed to find Sara. He wasn't locked down. If anyone could help, it was him.

As he crept as quickly through the prison, behind the walls in the service wings and pipes, he wondered if this terrible feeling was the same he'd feel on the night of the escape. With so much at stake.

It was half knowledge, half instinct that got him through the walls. He prayed his was right…

He attributed half of it to luck since his mind felt jumbled when he finally found himself above the sick bay, able to offer a hand down to Sara, who was just like she had been on the video, locked in an exam room. He watched the situation, and how she was cornered, and realized again how much havoc he'd inadvertently caused by turning off the AC.

Pulling her up through the removed ceiling tiles only made him feel somewhat better. The look on her face, the way he felt, couldn't be erased. He did suddenly realize how much he actually cared for her, and how much he had just risked coming over here to help her, and suddenly felt that much more confused. Confused was something he couldn't afford to be.

Almost in a trance, he explained to her how they would crawl out on the pipes, wishing he could help her look less scared, and then wondered if he looked that scared as well. Because he felt it. And here he was in the pipes with Sara. In his secret escape route with Sara.

When they stopped to rest, he felt the need to try to assure her. And himself. His heart was pounding a little bit less and he took the time to try to talk a little.

"Things should be winding down around now," he said, watching the way her hand gripped the suspension wire holding the pipe they were balanced on. "Pretty soon the powers that be will break in and it'll all be over. It's only a matter of time."

She breathed deeply, trying to compose her fears. "What's happening in A Wing?"

A heat wave, he thought to himself. Michael wished he could express his guilt to her, or tell somebody how responsible he felt. It was like the whole world was resting on his shoulders. He was sure people had died. He'd caused people to die.

"All hell's breaking loose," was all he could say. He swallowed. "But I think if we stay up here we should be okay."

He couldn't stand the silence between them.

He tried to think about other things to talk about. He tried to remember the things he'd thought about for him and Lincoln. Things that might distract her.

"You ever been to Baja?" he asked. "Mexico?" She didn't respond and he continued. "There's this great place down there... Twenty bucks a night... Hammock on the back deck... Beers are fifty cents." He smirked. "Twenty-five cents at happy hour…"

She didn't say anything and he swallowed.

"You ever been to Thailand?" he persisted. "Thailand's great."

"Michael," she cut in. "If you're trying to calm me down you're dong a terrible job."

He realized she was right. "But I am trying," he pointed out.

Finally she gave a small laugh.

When she tried continuing the conversation, he felt himself get nervous. She asked how he'd known where she was, how he got where he was through the walls. And mind working hard, he spit out some lie confidently enough about working in the walls through PI and cleaning out mold. He didn't know if she bought it, and he began to realize how much trouble he might have put himself in coming through to save her.

They couldn't rest there long and he started to move. Enough conversation. Barely a moment to catch their breath and the cons that had been trying to break through to the one accessible female in the prison for them to release their inhibitions realized where they were. They could hear them trying to get into the ceiling as well.

They made their way quickly down the pipes and to an opening where they could get down to the hall. Only a moment of silence, where he looked at her curiously and she looked back, with question and maybe some interest, before another inmate, a large black man, rushed into the hall, a look of hunger in his eye.

Michael saw the con go towards Sara and before he knew what he was doing, jumped on his back and caught him in a headlock. Michael was never a fighter. Lincoln was the rough one, the one in fights after school or the one who easily lashed out when provoked. Michael had learned a little from him, but never had his strength. He knew he could never fight like Lincoln, so instead he hung on with his headlock and all of his might, trying to cut off the man's air.

When another con ran into the room and jumped in, Sara rushed forward as well, remembering that particular man's reason for being in sick bay in the first place and slamming her foot down across his healing leg which she'd treated, causing agonizing pain.

Then they ran.

He remembered his way towards an exit, compromising himself even more by explaining to Sara the ways around the prison. But it didn't matter. He just had to get her out of here and to somewhere safe. They got there as soon as they could. He stared out at the police cars outside, surrounding the prison, and looked at her, feeling fear rise in his chest.

She had to go now. She had to leave and he would have to try to find his way back. He looked at her gently and listened to the sound of helicopters and radios outside.

"Michael," she said, her voice suddenly different.

He looked at her quizzically. "What?"

"They see us."

He saw the look of fear in her eyes, a new fear, and frowned. Then he followed her line of vision and looked down at his chest, noticing the red dot of the laser pointer coming from a weapon outside.

Someone was going to shoot him.

For helping.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He felt like he would have a heart attack any minute but he tried to keep composed. "You have to go," he said.

She shook her head, staring at the red laser beam incredulously. "I can't. They'll kill you."

"When you go out the door, I'll drop to the floor."

"They're sharpshooters, Michael. They won't miss."

He breathed. "That's why you have to go."

The moments after that were a blur. He heard the inmates from before coming down the hall and turned his head in time to see them rushing through the door. He pushed her towards the exit, yelling for her to go, and dropped to the floor out of the way as the cons from the sick bay ran towards her.

They fell to the floor as the sharpshooter took them down.

Michael crawled out of the room and tried to keep his self-control and wondering why he hadn't been shot. He felt like any moment this rush would cause him to explode. There was way too much going on and so much more than he had ever anticipated. He hated things he hadn't anticipated, and being put on the other end of a sharpshooter's target was something he couldn't handle.

He pulled himself out of the room, hearing bullets ricochet behind him, and felt the cold floor of the hall beneath his cheek, breathing heavily.

He knew he had to go back to his cell. Whatever was going on in his cell was the next thing he had to control. Sara was safe, but now there was Sucre, Abruzzi, T-Bag, and the CO to deal with. It was far more than he could handle.

He rushed back to A Wing, not desiring to be a sniper's target again, and stopped dead in his tracks once he was inside the block. It was a mess. There was shouting and people everywhere, the three hundred inmates scattered in the chaos of bodies, torn paper, sheets, and blood. There fire and screaming, and it was the worst scene he'd ever experienced.

Was this all really because of him? Because of his desire for a lockdown? Is this really what a lockdown was?

Had these people died for him so he could get through a wall? For something so simple?

The announcement of a "final warning" came over from a loudspeaker and he looked towards the exits where there were guards lined up in tactical gear and gas masks.

His heart skipped a beat. What was going to happen? It was like a war zone.

What had he caused?

He stood there, bewildered, and suddenly felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder. He was startled for just a second until he turned and saw Lincoln there. Immediately he stepped to him, relieved as Lincoln grabbed him, pulling him in close for a hug. Michael wrapped his arms around his brother's shoulders, burying his face into his neck.

He wanted to give way right there, and have Lincoln hold him up, and have someone else handle things. He didn't want to let go, and he wanted Lincoln to keep his arms around him. He had never felt so afraid, not even when he first found out about Lincoln in Fox River. This was more. This was Lincoln, it was the people in his cell, it was Sara, it was the hole being found, it was almost being shot by a sniper.

Lincoln pulled back and Michael forced himself to too, keeping a hand on Lincoln's shoulder.

"Where have you been?" Lincoln demanded.

Michael hesitated, swallowing back the lump in his throat and attempting composure. "All over," he said, staring at the blood on Lincoln's white shirt. He slipped his hand to Lincoln's head. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Lincoln answered sharply, distressed. "Are you?"

"Yes," Michael lied. He wasn't alright. He wasn't alright at all. "Yes." He watched the exit doors and knew they had to move. They couldn't be standing there when the guards burst in with gas and clubs. They started away, up the stairs to the second level where Michael's cell was.

Michael took two stairs at the time, feeling Lincoln behind him, and made his way to the second level. It was chaos up here as well, although not as crowded as the first floor where the exits were. Where bodies were. But there were still people everywhere.

Michael realized he'd stopped dead in his tracks and frowned, taking a deep breath.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Lincoln took Michael by the arm and turned him around.

Michael felt Lincoln's gaze hard on him and couldn't meet his eyes. "Yes. I'm alright."

"Michael," Lincoln persisted. "Michael, I've spent the last hour or two hours or whatever it's been, looking for you. What's the matter? Where have you been?"

Michael stared down through the railing, down at the chaos on the floor below and swallowed. "I… I was… All over."

"Doing what?" Lincoln demanded. "How could you be all over?" He studied his brother's face, remembering the fear of him being missing, through all this, through the riot, and knowing how vulnerable Michael was in something like this. Looking at his face now he could see how true it was, how fragile he was, regardless of the exterior he'd put on for this prison exploit.

"Michael," Lincoln persisted. A couple inmates ran past them, shouting, and Michael's head turned to look towards them before his eyes flickered back down to the bedlam below them.

Lincoln set his jaw, and took Michael by his arms, pushing him back out of the main path of the upper level, into the corner behind them. He pushed Michael up against the wall. "Look at me. You're not hurt, are you? What's the matter?"

"All of this," Michael managed, looking just briefly at his brother.

"I know. It's crazy." Lincoln swallowed, glancing behind them. He looked back at his little brother. "It's fucked up, and I don't know how this happened, but—"

"I do."

"Michael."

"I did this."

Lincoln's brow furrowed. "Don't." He shook his head. "That's ridiculous. You don't even—"

"I did." Michael shook his head and moved to pull himself from Lincoln's grip. He couldn't. Lincoln tightened his hold and kept him in front of him.

"How, Michael?" he challenged. "You didn't do anything. If you're scared, that's fine, but—"

"I did do it." Michael finally met Lincoln's eye with a steady gaze. He spoke in a law voice. "I wanted a lockdown. I—"

"Stop it, Michael."

Michael ignored him and continued. "I needed a lockdown to get something done. So I went back into the walls and I turned off the AC unit." He swallowed. "I made sure something would happen so that there would be a lockdown. And then things got out of control. And Sara… And I almost…" He felt his emotions start to rise in his chest and breathed deeply, trying to keep control. He didn't actually want to tell Lincoln about the sniper. Or Sara.

Lincoln stared at him, quiet. He let go of Michael's arms, and watched Michael slump against the wall.

Michael didn't know what his silence meant. He continued shakily, "Lincoln. A lot people… are dead." He swallowed. "All these people are dead because I—"

"Stop it," Lincoln said. "Don't say that."

"It's true," Michael persisted. "I just told you…" His chin quivered and he lowered his eyes, looking down at the floor. "Ironic. Because you're the one on death row for murder, and I'm the one that's actually killed people…"

Lincoln reached up and grabbed Michael's chin, forcing him to look at him. "Listen to me," he said. "You didn't kill anybody. You listening to me?"

Michael nodded, sniffling.

"So you made it a little hot in here," Lincoln said stiffly. "That's it. Fuck them if they can't deal with sweating a bit. You didn't control how they reacted. You didn't—"

"But I did," Michael objected.

Lincoln squeezed his hand around Michael's jaw. "Listen. You don't control things in here like you think you do. Just because you plan something out doesn't mean everything that happens is because of you. These aren't robots in here. These are fucking cons, some of them horrible people, and you are not responsible for what they do in here."

Michael didn't respond, he just reached for Lincoln's shirt, gripping a handful in his fist. He stared at the blood staining it.

"You understand me?" Lincoln persisted, slipping his hand to Michael's cheek. Michael didn't answer, and he studied him, wishing he could read his mind. "Do you want control?"

Michael nodded.

"Then stop," Lincoln said in frustration, "blaming yourself for stupid things, Michael. Understand me?"

"No," Michael answered insistently, tugging at Lincoln's shirt in exasperation. "You don't understand. You weren't here."

"Do you know what I went through trying to find you today?" Lincoln retorted, dropping his hands to his side in frustration. "I was here. I know what went on."

"And I—"

"And unless you were here telling each and every single one of these cons what to do and who to do it to," Lincoln persisted, "then I really don't think you can call yourself responsible. As much as you'd like to think you are."

Michael stared at him.

Lincoln put his hands on Michael's waist and pulled him in close to him. "Please don't disappear on me like that again, Michael... God, you scared me. You scared me so much. I hate having you in here."

Michael let go of Lincoln's shirt and put a hand on his arm. "Why are you bleeding?"

"It's nothing."

"Who did it?"

"You're not the only one with enemies in here, Michael." Lincoln sighed. "Now, are you okay?"

Michael thought about the plan. The plan wasn't okay. He wasn't sure he was either. "I'm through the wall. But a CO knows. And…" He glanced back towards his cell. "And… They're in there. Or were."

"You mean Bob? And T-Bag? Abruzzi?" Lincoln spoke. "They're all in your cell."

Michael looked back at him, surprised but not questioning. Then he started to move. "I need to—"

"Wait a second," Lincoln persisted, holding him in place. "I didn't mean, how's your plan? I meant you. How are you?"

"I'm good now," Michael replied. He pushed Lincoln's hands off his waist. "I'm fine. Are you fine?"

"Yeah."

"Then I need to take care of what's going on in my cell."

Lincoln let him go, sighing at the transformation as intellectual, sensitive Michael attempted to turn back into his hardened, knowledgeable prison Michael. He followed him towards his cell, listening as the alarms started blaring from below.

Sucre was standing outside the cell.

"What's going on?" Michael asked him.

Sucre glanced at Abruzzi, standing in the entrance to the cell and grinned, beginning to excitedly tell Michael how they'd gotten through the wall. Michael felt a little surge of relief at that but too much else was going on to be glad that one thing was going right.

"Alright," Michael answered. "Let's get everyone outta here." He walked into the cell, past T-Bag, and stared at Bob. "Especially him."

"We're not getting him out of here," T-Bag objected. "I'll take care of him myself."

Michael turned, staring at T-Bag. "You're not gonna kill him."

"I won't come back," Bob pleaded, sitting on the lower bunk with a bloodied face.

"It's over!" T-Bag persisted, narrowing his eyes at Michael. "We don't need him no more."

"You're not gonna kill him!" Michael persisted, panicking a little bit. Enough people had died today already.

T-Bag shoved him back against the wall. "You so stupid you're just gonna let him walk out that front door?" he demanded.

Watching someone lay a hand on his brother, Lincoln stormed into the cell and grabbed T-Bag by the neck, pushing him back away from him.

T-Bag kept his distance from Michael but continued to insist. "After all he's seen?" he demanded. "After all he's seen?"

Lincoln pulled Bob up off the bed as T-Bag continued to object. "Get up."

"Get out!" Michael told T-Bag.

Lincoln glanced at Michael, watching his frustration boil to the top, and then turned back to Bob, pulling him out of the cell. "Keep your mouth shut," he warned, "and turn left."

"Get out!" Michael continued to shout at T-Bag.

Finally T-Bag acquiesced, moving towards the exit just as Abruzzi leered at Bob, holding up his driver's license.

"If we have a problem," he growled, "we know where to find you." As the CO walked away, he then turned to T-Bag. "Just forget about it…" he persisted, blocking him from following the CO.

Michael watched them, nervous, and realized things were escalating outside, not just with them, but with the guards rushing in. Abruzzi cast one last look at him before fleeing himself.

Slowly, Michael walked out of the cell, taking a deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye he saw T-Bag move and turned. He saw the CO up ahead and T-Bag heading towards him.

In a fluid motion, T-Bag jammed a blade a few times into the unsuspecting CO, then shoving him over the rail.

"No!" Michael gasped, in disbelief. He stumbled back, leaning into the doorway of his cell, feeling ill. He could feel Sucre's eyes on him but couldn't react. He couldn't do anything. And he wished he couldn't feel anything. He wished his mind wasn't so busy.

T-Bag walked back away from the rail and swaggered down towards the other end of cells, slowing as he passed Michael. "One for the team…" he whispered.

Michael watched him leave. The team. He for a moment wished Lincoln was still there so he could have some semblance of comfort, but instead found none. He leaned back against the cell and felt his psyche sink even lower.

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

**Seems like it's been forever since I updated anything. It probably has been forever. I apologize. Thank you to those sticking with me.  
**

**So the other story I've been working on in the Prison Break genre… It was about their father coming back, with Michael having met him before and enlisted him as part of the plan without knowing who he was…. Now that the father has reappeared with a twist on the show and all that has been said and done, I've kind of dropped that story…**

**Also not sure where this one is going or how often I'll be updating it. I might take a break from the Prison Break fiction for a little while. I was considering writing another one that takes place just after the mom dies and follow more of the story on the show (foster homes and such) but I don't know if I actually will. We'll see how the hiatus between the fall finale and January 22's new episode treats me. If anyone has suggestions, I'm open to them.**

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Chapter 15**

_Fifteen year old Michael arrived home from school a little bit earlier than normal. He'd cut out of history class, tired since he'd stayed up too late the night before and from the rest of the day of classes, which had just been that tedious. _

_He wasn't sure whether Lincoln would be home from work yet, but figured he wouldn't notice if he was getting back early anyway. His brother's schedule was so erratic that, if asked, Lincoln would probably need several guesses to figure out what time school actually ended. And Michael figured Lincoln only pretended to really care about when he skipped classes. It was more grades, and Michael knew his grades were good._

_When he walked through the door, he saw Lincoln on the couch with a huge grin, looking happier than he'd seen him look in a long time. And there in front of his brother was a mangy looking brown dog, scampering across the carpet after an equally mangy tennis ball._

_Michael's eyes followed the dog and then flew back to Lincoln, brow furrowing. "Where'd you get a dog?"_

_Lincoln looked up at his brother, just noticing him. "Oh, hey, Mike," he greeted good-naturedly, suddenly reminding Michael for no reason at all of years ago. "Come in, man, come in. I don't know yet if she'll run out."_

_Michael stepped into the apartment, slowly closing the door behind him as though afraid to be in the apartment with Lincoln and the animal._

_"Beautiful, isn't she?" Lincoln asked. Then he leaned forward and smiled widely as the dog returned with the tennis ball. "Yeah, girl… Good, girl…" He scratched the dog behind the ears. _

_"We don't own a dog," Michael said simply, still standing in front of the door with his backpack slung over his shoulder. _

_Lincoln looked at like he was crazy. "I know."_

_"So… Whose is it?" Michael's face darkened as possible scenarios raced through his head. "You didn't steal somebody's dog, did you, Linc?"_

_Lincoln's wide smile was gone and replaced with a scowl. He glanced at the dog as it nudged him with its nose, and then gave Michael a disappointed look. "No, retard. I didn't steal somebody's dog…"_

_Michael pulled himself away from the door and weirdness of the scene with the help of Lincoln's curt tone. He dropped his bookbag on the floor and walked over to drop into the other by the couch. "Then where's it from?"_

_"She," Lincoln corrected. _

_"She," Michael echoed. He watched Lincoln throw the tennis ball again, this time too far, but the dog followed it anyway, sliding into the kitchen, nails clicking against the linoleum. "Where's she from?"_

_"Not sure," Lincoln admitted. He looked at his frowning little brother, a little saddened that he wasn't more excited. Maybe he didn't understand. "I found her on my way home from work. She's got no tags or anything. So… I just gave her some attention and she just kind of… You know, followed me home."_

_"All the way back? You brought a stray dog into the apartment?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Oh." _

_"I thought you'd be excited…" Lincoln muttered, shaking his head. "I remember once you bawled for a week when Mom wouldn't get you a puppy. I thought she'd kill you. And now I'm giving us a dog, and sure she's no puppy, but…"_

_Michael remembered. "I was six when that happened. What do you mean you're giving us a dog?"_

_"You're not even excited at all. You're way too serious, Mike, you know that?" The dog came back up to him, wagging its tail expectantly with the tennis ball locked in its jaw. Lincoln pet the dog. "Say hi to Mike, girl. Go on." He pushed the dog towards his brother, but as though sensing the lack of enthusiasm from Michael, the dog stayed by Lincoln's side. _

_"I don't understand why you'd just bring a stray dog home though," Michael said. "I was six when I asked for one."_

_"It's not just for you. And what, now that you're older you suddenly don't you want a dog?"_

_"I didn't say that."_

_"So what's wrong with her?"_

_"She's kind of mangy looking. Do you think she has her shots and all that?" _

_"I don't know. I guess we can take her to the vet." He studied Michael, wishing for a moment that he was still a little boy that wasn't so pragmatic. Michael didn't look excited at all like Lincoln had planned. He looked somewhat skeptical instead, like he once again was watching his brother do something stupid._

_"Yeah…" Michael wondered if he should let Lincoln pretend with this for a little while. After all, that initial smile, when he'd first walked into the room, was something he hadn't seen on his brother's face for a long time. And he missed it. "Okay, Lincoln."_

_"Okay?" Lincoln echoed. "Okay, what?"_

_Michael wondered if he was being a pessimist or a realist when he considered all the things that came with having a dog. He remembered the week of crying for one and he also remembered every argument his mother had given him. "I mean, okay, if you want the dog. It's cool."_

_"Tell me what you're thinking, Michael. Don't just give me that submissive bullshit."_

_"I'm not." Michael remembered his six year old self that Lincoln had referred to, when he had wanted the dog so badly. His best friend, whose house he stayed at each day after school, had gotten a new puppy and he thought it was the greatest thing ever. No reason his mother used, varying from not having time for it, or money for food and vet bills, or even the fact their apartment didn't allow pets, could convince Michael at that age of why she was saying no. _

_Now the tables seemed turned. _

_"I just didn't know you wanted a dog now," Michael persisted. "She looks kinda old. How old's she?"_

_"I don't know. I just found her today, remember? No tags." _

_Michael stared at its tail, the way it wagged, and then down at its back leg he'd noticed it favoring with a limp when it had gone after the tennis ball. He tried to figure out what else was faulty inside of it. He stiffened as the dog approached him and as its wet nose pressed against his knee._

_"Michael, what are you afraid of?" Lincoln asked, watching his brother's rigidness. _

_"Nothing."_

_"Then pet the dog. Why do you have that look? She just wants to be pet." Lincoln sighed, watching his brother lift his hand and pat the dog on the head. The dog's tail thumped against the chair happily. "What are you thinking about?"_

_"Have you fed her?" Michael asked, scratching the dog behind its ear._

_"Half my sandwich from lunch. I'll buy her food though..."_

_Michael pressed his lips together, remembering how Lincoln had yelled at him for spending slightly more than usual on groceries the week before and wondered how much more the dog's food would add to it. And whether Lincoln would yell at Michael for it._

_"What?" Lincoln persisted. "What is it?"_

_Michael got up. "I'm hungry."_

_"You're mad about the dog," Lincoln said simply. The dog watched them quizzically. _

_"No," Michael objected, exasperated at Lincoln's eyes on him. He walked into the kitcehn and to the fridge, pulling it open. He eyed a slice of leftover pizza and took it, closing the fridge door with his foot. He walked back into the other room._

_Lincoln sighed. "Then what is it, man? Go ahead."_

_"Nothing."_

_"Nothing?"_

_"Yeah." Michael took a big bite of the pizza. _

_"Something happen at school?"_

_"No."_

_"The dog's stupid," Lincoln said, as though reading Michael's mind. "That's it, right? We both know it. Just tell me. I know it."_

_Michael shrugged. "I just thought they were expensive."_

_"Well, anything can be expense. But I think we can afford it. Can we give it a try? I saw her, just all lonely, and…"_

_Michael didn't like Lincoln asking him like he needed permission. He took another bite of pizza and shifted under his brother's look, moving to sit down on the couch. "I don't know. Whatever."_

_"Dog's are a man's best friend, Michael."_

_"So they say," Michael agreed. "I guess I just thought we were trying to be more careful with money. I'm just surprised."_

_"Yeah… You hate surprises."_

_Michael shrugged. He couldn't disagree with that. "It's okay."_

_"Sorry then, I guess." _

_"No," Michael shook his head, hating the disappointment in Lincoln's voice. "There's nothing to be sorry about." He paused. "The dog kind of smells, Lincoln."_

_Lincoln smirked. "Well… Maybe..." He shrugged. _

_Michael chewed on the pizza not answering for a minute. He decided it would probably be okay to have this dog. "Maybe you can give it a bath."_

_"Yeah." Lincoln rolled his eyes. He didn't envision himself giving the dog a bath any time soon. _

_Besides, the dog didn't seem to smell that bad. _

_Lincoln sighed, reaching for the remote tucked beside the cushion and flipping on the television. He had just switched stations when he heard Michael's voice._

_"Uh, Linc…"_

_Lincoln was about to ask him what when he followed Michael's line of vision. To the dog in the corner of the room._

_"The dog just pissed on the floor."_

_Lincoln groaned, taking a deep breath and trying to be calm. No big deal, he told himself. It happened. It happened with dogs… He knew that. Of course this would happen._

_Michael looked unsure. "Maybe it's not trained."_

_"She, not it," Lincoln replied._

_"I thought only puppies did that."_

_"Well… Maybe she's nervous. New environment and all that. Maybe she senses your mood." _

_"I'm not in a mood," Michael replied. "Maybe she lives outside and thinks the world is a toilet."_

_Lincoln smirked. "Or that." He pushed himself up off the couch. "Do we have paper towels left?"_

_"I think." Michael watched Lincoln disappear into the kitchen, emerging shortly after with a roll of paper towels and heading towards the now large spot on the carpet. He was slightly surprised at his brother's calmness over the whole thing. He chewed on his pizza with a frown as he watched his brother._

_Silence passed between them as Lincoln tried to clean and Michael eyed the TV and at pizza._

_"So to change the subject… I have a question. Where were you last night?" Lincoln asked after a couple minutes. _

_Michael paused, frowning at the question. "Huh?"_

_"Last night." Lincoln looked up from his crouched position on the floor. "Where were you?"_

_"Where were you?" Michael answered._

_Lincoln smirked despite himself. "Don't do that. Just tell me."_

_"Here."_

_"No, you weren't."_

_"Yeah. I was," Michael insisted._

_"Well, fine, then. What time did you get home?"_

_Michael shrugged. "Uh… Not too late. Where were you?" He wasn't sure what Lincoln was getting at, since whatever time Michael had gotten home didn't excuse the fact that Lincoln hadn't come home at all, even if that hadn't been a surprise._

_"I told you I wouldn't be home last night."_

_That was also true, so Michael nodded. "I know."_

_"I'm only asking because I called you like three times and you never answered."_

_Michael frowned. "Called for what?"_

_"Doesn't matter. Where were you when I called?"_

_"Can't say since I don't know exactly what time you called."_

_"Don't be a smartass, alright?" Lincoln tossed the now wet paper towel aside and pulled off another few sheets from the roll. "Just answer."_

_"I just did."_

_"It was around eleven."_

_"Oh… Well, that's not that late."_

_"Not that late? Then when did you get home?"_

_Michael gave him a cunning look. "I didn't say I wasn't home then."_

_"No, you didn't," Lincoln agreed. "And stop making this a game, or I'm gonna come over there and slap that look off your face." _

_"It's more fun as a game."_

_"Fine, keep it up and see what happens," Lincoln answered shortly. He tried to dry the carpet as much as possible, made a mental note to buy carpet cleaner, and got up. He disappeared briefly into the kitchen to toss the soiled paper towels into the trash and rinse his hands, then returned. He watched Michael finish the crust of the pizza slice and waited._

_"What?" Michael caught his look. _

_"I asked you a question. Just admit you weren't home."_

_"What fun is that?"_

_"There's no fun in any of it. I already know you weren't home… I just want to hear you say it."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because you know how I feel about you not telling me where you are. And how I feel about you being out on school nights." _

_"You weren't here for me to tell you where I was."_

_"That's the point. You knew that I wouldn't be here." _

_Michael rolled his eyes. "You really think I make my decisions based on your schedule?"_

_"Sometimes I wonder." Lincoln walked towards the couch, glancing at the dog now sitting a few feet away. He sat down beside Michael on the couch. "Let's talk."_

_"Did you wash your hands?" Michael asked._

_"No." Lincoln leaned over, reaching over to teasingly wipe his fingers across Michael's cheek. "You can smell the dog pee."_

_Michael slapped his hand away, scowling. He rubbed his hand across his cheek._

_"I'm kidding…" Lincoln assured. "Yes, I washed my hands."_

_"Good." Michael reached for the controller between them, but Lincoln snatched it first and muted the TV. Michael gave him a quizzical look._

_"Answer my question," Lincoln said._

_"What question? I slept here last night. Which is more than I can say for you and your new mangy dog," Michael said. "So I don't know really know what you're going for."_

_"I didn't ask where you slept. I asked where you were. And you're just having fun acting like you have no idea what I'm talking about."_

_"Evidently I was here."_

_Lincoln leaned back into the couch, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling and not understanding the pleasure Michael got from circular arguments. "Well, do you want to be straight with me, or you want me to go through every second I wasn't here and specifically ask what you were doing at that moment?"_

_Michael laughed but then turned his head and caught Lincoln's expression. He realized his brother wasn't joking around and sighed. "What are you so bent out of shape about?"_

_"You lying to me."_

_"I'm not lying to you." _

_"You're not telling me what I want to know either."_

_"You can't tell me that I'm not allowed to leave the apartment. Don't even say it. When you were fifteen, you did anything you wanted and—"_

_"No," Lincoln shook his head. "I'm not telling you never to leave the apartment. And I did not do what I wanted."_

_"What then, Mom was too sick to tell you what to do?"_

_Lincoln gave him a look but Michael's eyes were locked on the silent TV, a stubborn look on his face. "Just because I did something doesn't mean you have to do it too. In fact you shouldn't. What did you do, anyway?"_

_"Nothing."_

_"Michael… Why not just answer?… I just want to know what you were doing…"_

_"What's there to answer? You don't trust me."_

_"No, I just don't trust fifteen year old ME." Lincoln frowned. _

_"Oh, okay. So that's right. You just jarred my memory." Michael gave him an exasperated look. "First I went to a dive bar with my fake ID and got wasted, all on a credit card that I won't be able to pay off for months, and that was because all the cash I had was used to buy the bag of weed I needed after me and my waste of life friends finished yours. Then—"_

_"Michael—"_

_"Gosh, I hope I don't still smell like the strip club. I mean, they always say you'll smell like it for a week, but—"_

_"Michael."_

_Michael glared at him. "Get over it, Lincoln."_

_"You think all that is funny?"_

_"Not really, but now I'll have you try to figure out how much of that is true." _

_"How about none of it?"_

_"Oh? But why not?"_

_"I'm not even going to argue you. I'm just not going to care. You win. How's that?"_

_"There's nothing to win. Why is none of it true?"_

_"If I play your game will you not run out and do all those things just to prove me wrong?"_

_"No one needs to prove you wrong, Linc."_

_Lincoln's brow furrowed. "What's that mean?"_

_"Nothing. Let's end this conversation. You getting a dog is far more newsworthy than anything I did last night, that's for sure."_

_"Maybe." Lincoln paused. "And, I don't have any weed, Michael, like you just said. So don't say that."_

_Michael suddenly smirked at his brother. "Sure, you don't."_

_"What's that look?"_

_"Nothing." Michael smiled smugly. _

_"That's not nothing," Lincoln objected. "Stop. What's that look mean?"_

_"Just that you're lying."_

_"I'm not."_

_"Oh, so you forgot then? Then is it up for grabs?"_

_"Michael." _

_Michael could hear in the way Lincoln said his name that his patience for these kinds of responses was growing thin and wouldn't be accepted rather soon. That was slightly disappointing because Michael loved making people reach for answers, especially Lincoln. "Okay, Linc, you win. How's that?" Michael imitated. _

_"How's that," Lincoln echoed. "Okay, fine. So you did something that you don't want to talk about last night, and that's fine, but can we just agree you remember to tell me where you are? So I don't worry?"_

_"You weren't worried or else you would've come back here."_

_"Who says I didn't?"_

_Michael looked at him skeptically and then shook his head. "You didn't."_

_"Fine, I didn't."_

_"And you weren't here for me to—"_

_"Michael, you already know that's not the point. I told you I wouldn't be home last night."_

_"Sure it's the point. Maybe I didn't know before to tell you. And then I left you a note but you weren't here to get it."_

_"You knew I wasn't going to be here," Lincoln repeated._

_"Yup."_

_"You…" Lincoln trailed off. He shook his head. "You always try to make it out that I'm the one that should feel guilty."_

_"How about nobody feels guilty?" Michael responded. "You're getting all exasperated for nothing. Besides, I could say a lot of things and you would either believe or not believe me. And either way it would make no difference. You still wouldn't be happy."_

_Lincoln frowned. "I'm not unhappy."_

_"You know what I think?"_

_Sighing, Lincoln looked into Michael's blue eyes. "What do you think?"_

_"That you should actually wash your hands," Michael replied. "Because you do smell like piss."_

_Lincoln continued to look at him until Michael blinked. Then he laughed. "Fine. I didn't use soap. How's that?"_

_Michael rubbed at his cheek where Lincoln had touched him before. "Gross. That's how that is."_

_oooooooooooooooooooo_

Trying to think of happier, although more useful times, Michael found himself at a loss. It had just been a day since the riot. Michael felt like he was still in the middle of it. And unfortunately, at PI that day Lincoln noticed. "What's wrong, Michael?"

"Hm?" Michael looked up, finding Lincoln's eyes locked on him. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Lincoln frowned. He had been studying Michael's expression for the past few minutes and was pretty sure that it was something. He took a step closer, leaning against the chain link fence beside him and resting the rake he'd been using against it as well. "What is it?" he asked.

Michael's eyes flashed towards the guards and he swallowed. "Lincoln… Bellick has been on my back all day. Don't… I mean, just do your work. We can't talk now."

"Sure we can."

"Lincoln…" Michael sighed. "Just—"

"Just what?" Lincoln picked up the rake. "I can walk and chew gum at the same time." He pulled the rake across some leaves disinterestedly. "See?"

"Well, there's nothing wrong. Everything's on schedule, and in the next day or so you'll see. It'll become much more obvious to you then." Michael glanced at one of the buildings on the prison property on the other side of the yard. "Very obvious."

"It's yesterday, isn't it…?"

"Yesterday?" Michael echoed. He looked back at his brother. "What do you mean?"

"The riot. It's still bugging you."

Michael shook his head, turning back to the yard work. "No, it's done. That's all done."

"All done? It was yesterday, Michael. And look at you. You're transparent. It's all you're thinking about."

"Not quite."

"It's written all over your face. Remember what I told you? It's not your—"

"Lincoln," Michael objected. He paused, looking up again and setting his jaw. "Just drop it, okay? I don't have time to worry about things that already happened."

"Don't have time to talk about you mean. But you might as well, because you're thinking about it anyway, that's for sure."

Michael didn't respond.

"What do you mean no time anyway. You rather stand here in silence?"

Michael gave him a look. "Yes."

Lincoln rolled his eyes at Michael's stubbornness. "Fine. Silence it is. But you better get that look off your face."

Michael shook his head. "There is no look."

"Right."

Michael squinted up at the sky, trying to clear his thoughts and finding himself unable to. It was almost easier to argue with Lincoln about nothing being wrong than be alone in silence with his thoughts. And there was never silence. There was always his nagging conscious, confused even more by the hundreds of little worries and distractions around him.

After a moment, when he kept sensing Lincoln's eyes on him, he gave up on the silence. He looked at the distance between them and the other inmates and then spoke. "T-Bag killed Bob."

Lincoln's hand tightened on the handle of the rake. "What?"

"You heard me."

"How do you know?"

"I _saw_," Michael replied. "I saw it."

Lincoln studied him.

"It's all these details…" Michael persisted. "You told me I have too many people involved. Well, all these indirect connections. It's… Even more." He shook his head. "I don't even know. I mean, the angles and I know, but—"

"Keep it to yourself."

Michael frowned. "What? You just said you wanted to talk and now—"

"No. I mean what you saw. Don't tell anybody what you saw."

"I haven't."

"I mean, they'll investigate and poke around. You don't want to be on either side of that, Michael."

Michael nodded but looked distracted as his eyes drifted around the year. "Yeah. I know."

"I'm serious. Don't mention it again."

"Fine," Michael answered, a little shortly. "I get it."

Lincoln pressed his lips together, shaking his head. "Bob… Fuck, he was a great guy. A real great guy."

Michael's brow furrowed. "I know he was." A moment later he added. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up, Michael."

"I am."

Lincoln sighed. "Why don't you get it?"

"I caused it," Michael replied. "Refute any of it, if you can. I caused the riot. It was my cell that caught his attention. If I wasn't in the wall, there would've been nothing to see. Nothing at all. And there would be no reason not to let Bob walk."

"Who knows the reasons for what T-Bag does, Michael. He's crazy. Absolutely crazy. And if you don't see that…. Well, you've gotta see that."

"Lincoln, there's only one reason why he did what he did. Crazy yes, but there are motives."

"Yeah, but why should you feel guilty for something you didn't do? You would never kill somebody."

Michael scoffed. "Really. I also would never rob a bank."

"You didn't actually—"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Michael, you're pissing me off…" Lincoln shook his head.

"Yeah, good." Michael rubbed the back of his neck. "Good."

"If you're not going to listen to me, fine. But then don't bitch about it either."

"I'm not."

"You are. Incessantly arguing about feeling guilty is doing nothing but giving me a head ache and getting you heated."

"I told you I didn't want to talk about it."

"And I said fine and you couldn't handle a minute of silence." Lincoln gave him a knowing look.

"Well, the sickening feeling sinking inside of me like a dead weight isn't giving me a minute of silence," Michael answered.

Lincoln sighed. "Well, what do I need to say to you for you to get over it?"

"You can't." Michael shook his head. "There's nothing to say until I get over it."

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah."

"It's also the wondering, or worrying, what the ulterior consequences of the rest of the plan are," Michael admitted. "You know?"

"Yeah." Lincoln reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "It'll be fine, Michael. As long as it all gets done."

"That's what I'm supposed to say to you."

Lincoln laughed, slapping his arm. "Whatever. Roles have reversed once again."

"Actually the biggest concern about T-Bag now isn't what he did but what he will do… Now that he knows," Michael continued.

"Well, I'm sure there's something inked on your body somewhere that will tell you what to do."

Michael rolled his eyes yet smirked. "Yeah."

ooooooooooooo


End file.
